


So *That's* Where it Went!

by AlaDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Charlie Ships It, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobic Language, Impala, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Men of Letters Bunker, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Rimming, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8912623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaDestiel/pseuds/AlaDestiel
Summary: When a collection of ancient (and possibly magical) coins go missing, Sam suggests it might be nice to get out of the bunker and enjoy an easy case. Dean and Cas agree, mainly to escape boredom. Like always, things get complicated and the case ends up being more than it first appeared. Chapters added frequently.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic and is still in progress. Constructive criticism, Beta-ing and grammar nazis all welcome. There are some verb tense agreement errors and POV changes. I'm looking forward to hearing all your lovely thoughts.

It was just a run-of-the-mill case, or so Sam said when he found it on the internet. Laying around the Bunker all day was getting lame, and Dean couldn’t wait to crank up Baby and get goin' for some good ole “stab an’ gank.” Cas, of course, was harder to convince, wanting to spend more time considering strategy or researching, but Sam had been adamant that they should go check it out. So they got up early the next day, or at least Sam got up to go for a run. By the time he got back, peeling off his sweat-stained shirt on his way to the shower, Dean was just opening the door to his room.

“Put a shirt on or something,” he groused. “Someone’s gonna lose an eye!”

Sam threw his damp shirt at Dean’s head and retorted, “At least I look good with my shirt off jerk!”

“Bitch! Nobody wants to see your perky nipples, man,” Dean answered, rolling his green eyes playfully. “And this smells like ass. Throw it in the wash already.”

Cas popped his shaggy black head out into the hallway. “Are you two just about done bickering?” He asked, his graveled voice annoyed. “We should get on the road before noon.”

Sam went off to the shower, while Dean went to start some coffee. Soon the Bunker’s kitchen was filled with the enticing smell of dark roast and scrambled eggs.

“Cas!” Dean called, sliding some eggs and toast onto a plate. “Get on down here. I made some damn fine eggs and I don’t want them to cool off.”

He hadn’t finished speaking before Cas appeared behind Dean, placing a firm hand on Dean’s deltoid. Dean glanced at him, pursing his lips and narrowing his olive-green eyes while taking a small step back. “Dude,” he sighed, “How often I gotta remind you about personal space?”

“My apologies,” Cas intoned flatly, his blue eyes wide as he carefully removed his hand. “I assumed you wanted me to come try your eggs but if I was mistaken”-

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, flashing his most winning smile, “Of course I want you to try them. Don’t be such a girl. Sit down and have a bite already.”

Not having to be told twice, the angel sat and began buttering toast with a purpose. Dean turned back to the stove, grinning. He was glad that Cas enjoyed food, despite being an angel. It made him way more fun to cook for. But Cas could probably still stand to loosen up a little, he told himself. Too much serious talk with the Holy Tax Accountant and his brother the Feelings Doctor made Dean long for a nest of vamps just to shake things up. He couldn’t wait to get back out into the real world and make things interesting again. And if that didn’t work, well, there was always Mr. Jack Daniels, the father of all fun times.

As he daydreamed about road trips, whiskey, ladies, and bars, Dean began to whistle, serving himself a heaping pile of scrambled eggs too. Dimples appeared in his rugged cheeks as he arranged everything on the dish. He hooked a chair with his ankle and sat down next to Cas, throwing him a wink as he dug in. Being able to cook was one of the few good things he had learned from all those times Dad had left him and Sammy alone. That and how to hustle pretty much any sucker that he could talk into playing pool.

Sam came in, one hand vigorously towel-drying his long brown hair.  He eyeballed Dean and Cas, sitting at the table, way too close together as usual. “Isn’t this domestic,” he snarked, using his other hand to pour himself some coffee.

“Welcome back from your shower, Ariel,” Dean teased back. “Did you meet any nice sailor boys while you were using up all the hot water?”

Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Cas was quicker.

“I am unsure of how one of Shakespeare’s fairy characters is relevant to Sam’s length of shower, but the temperature of the water will be sufficient for one other person,” he pointed out, straightening from the table with his empty plate in hand. “As you are aware, I have no need for showering.”

Sam threw his towel at Dean, narrowly missing, and picked up his own plate. “No fruit?” He asked, peering at the remaining scrambled eggs.

“Quit whining, Samantha, and hurry up,” Dean jested, standing up as well, his plate held loosely in his hand as his eyes followed the tails of Cas’ overcoat down the hall. “We’re burning daylight. Taking your time in the shower makes you a bitch, and bitches do dishes.”

With that, he turned and exited the kitchen, leaving a pile of plates for Sam to clean. Dean headed briskly to his room. Once there, he threw his heavy canvas duffel on the bed. Three pairs of jeans, five tees, and some socks made the first layer. Dean had turned around and was rooting around in his top drawer when he heard the familiar rush of wings. He grabbed his gun and swung it around, the barrel coming almost to rest on the thin white fabric of Cas’ dress shirt.

“Sorry, man,” Dean huffed, sliding the gun into his belt hastily. “You startled me.”

“I apologize,” Cas replied, his icy gaze boring into Dean’s.

“Is there something you needed?”, Dean asked curiously. The angel was close enough that Dean could see the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Evidently, Jimmy had smiled more than Cas did now, to create those lines. For a moment, Dean wondered what a smiling Cas would look like. Something unfamiliar tightened or flipped in his stomach, and he glanced away.

Cas tilted his head in that weird avian way of his, reaching out a hand in a placating gesture while examining Dean. “I wanted to apologize,” his tone solemn. “It appears I make you uncomfortable.”

Dean resisted the urge to step back. “Why would you say that, man?” He asked, genuinely curious. Cas was his best friend, why would he be uncomfortable around his best friend? Sure, the guy was a little strange and had no understanding of personal space, but friends were rare and special in Dean’s world.

“It seems when I am in your periphery, you are…distressed,” Cas went on, his hand still hovering between them while he stared at Dean.

Dean wondered idly when Cas would blink, then found himself blinking first and got annoyed by it. “Dude, I have no idea what you are talking about, but can you please not try to have some stupid chick conversation while I am sorting my underwear?”, he asked, forced to rub his shoulder with Cas’ to throw a random pile into the bag.

Cas blinked slowly, his dark eyebrows folding together. “But Dean, I am sure I sense something”—

“Dude, are we going to get going or not?” Dean demanded, truly exasperated. He folded his tanned arms over each other and gave Cas a glare. Cas seemed frustratingly unmoved by Dean’s glare, meeting the glower with an icy one of his own.

“If you need to have some girly feelings time conversation, go do it with Sam. He loves that shit,” Dean commanded, turning back to his bag and fussing through it unnecessarily.

“Again, my apologies,” Cas said to Dean’s back and flapped out.

Dean found himself sighing. What the hell was up with that angel? He always made everything so much weirder than it needed to be. And the way Cas’ hand had floated there, hesitating but not quite touching. Dean’s throat tightened with the memory, the fine hairs on his arms rising into goosebumps. There was something definitely strange going on with the angel. He had always kept close to Dean, but recently, Cas had been closing the distance between them more and more frequently. And when they were alone, Dean would often look up to see Cas’ hand on him. Such a neutral, friendly gesture, and yet every time, the same hand to the same arm. Cas’ palm and fingers unerringly magnetized to the Mark he left when he pulled Dean from Hell. Or as the angel would say, "Perdition". Dean shook his head, swallowing dryly. It was his imagination. Cas was always strange. He pushed it firmly from his mind. Figuring he had everything he’d probably need, Dean threw a couple old cassette tapes and a Walkman into the bag in case he ended up sharing a room with Sammy the Snorer and headed out.

* * *

 

Baby roared to life like she was eager for the road, and so was Dean. He found himself smiling as he slid into the familiar leather bench seat, his fingers drumming out the rhythm to one of his favorite songs on Baby’s steering wheel. The morning hours had clicked by already, and Sammy was dozing against the window, his forehead pressed to the glass. The long brown hair was plastered against one side of his face. Although he could have easily flown, Cas sat attentively in the exact center of the back seat, his hands clasped casually on his lap. Dean found himself too cheerful to care. It was a beautiful August day, the sky was a cloudless blue dome, and Baby’s hood shone like polished black glass under the sun. No need for tangled conversations about emotions or the end of the world. Simple pleasures, he told himself. Empty road, endless possibility ahead. Miles and stress rolling away behind them.

Sam shifted slightly, his long, jean-covered moose legs barely contained in the footwell. Dean bit his lip, thinking that the position made his Gigantor brother look like a grasshopper, the way his legs folded so tightly together.  Deciding this would be an excellent opportunity for some embarrassing pictures, he took the next exit and pulled smoothly into the first greasy spoon restaurant he saw. Sammy hadn’t quite stirred yet, so Dean dug into his pocket, grabbed his cell phone, and snapped a picture, laughing a little to himself.  He sent a copy to Sam.

Cas tilted his dark head quizzically, and Dean knew one of his strange questions was about to come out when Sam’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. Sam sat up, banging his head.

“Sonofa”—he complained, digging out his phone and peering blearily at the image. “Oh, very funny, Dean.”

At this point, Dean was chortling helplessly, his hands loose on Baby’s wheel as his eyes squeezed shut.

“I don’t understand,” a deep voice interjected. “Why is Sam possibly injuring himself considered entertaining?”

Dean cracked one of his tightly shut eyelids open to see Cas looking genuinely concerned and doubled over with helpless laughter. Sam, rubbing his forehead, smiled wryly. “Ha, ha, very clever,” he said. “What are you, twelve?”

Dean grinned widely and batted his long dark eyelashes at Sam. “Did you just meet me?” he asked incredulously.

Cas eyed both brothers, but finding no serious injuries on Sam, shrugged. “Why have we stopped?” He demanded, his light blue eyes narrowing at Dean. “Was it just to take photographs of your brother? Need I remind you that innocent lives are very likely in danger right now?”

Dean sighed. “Don’t be such a party pooper, Cas.” He stepped out of the car, stretching himself. “I thought we could use a break from driving, stretch our legs and get some lunch.”

Cas tilted his head even further, looking like a perturbed, messy owl. His thin lips parted, but Sam intervened.

“Yeah, us humans could probably use some sustenance,” he confirmed, taking special care not to crack his head as he unfolded himself from the car. “This place probably only serves meat, so you should be in heaven, Dean.”

Dean closed the door to the Impala firmly and began strolling away. “At least I’m not eating rabbit food, bitch!” he called merrily over his shoulder.

“Jerk,” muttered Sam, threading his fingers hastily through his long hair, working the bits that had stuck to him in his sleep away from his cheek.

Cas followed after him, his khaki trench coat snapping like a sail with his steps. Dean used his best “chick-magnet” smile on the hostess inside, but her blue eyes slid past him and up about a foot. Sure enough, Sammy was hovering just behind him, shoulders rounded and girly hair barely contained behind his ears. Dean rolled his bright green eyes for the fortieth time that day. Some chicks just didn’t know a good thing when they saw it, but he was cool with that. Not every lady could handle The Smoulder.

Making sure to wiggle her skinny hips a little as she walked, the hostess led them to a booth at the back and dimpled in Sam’s direction. When he smiled back, she tittered and turned to get menus.

“Seriously?” Dean’s tone was wry as he eyeballed his brother. “Do I finally get to be the one to say that it’s time to focus on the case?”

Color rose on Sam’s cheeks and he glared at his brother. “Quit complaining Dean,” Sam answered back. “Not all women think you are hot.”

Cas cleared his throat. “Can we please stop talking about the willingness of the local girls to have sex with Dean and focus on the task at hand?”

His gravelly, deep voice echoed strangely, and Dean looked up to see the hostess standing at their table, holding the menus tightly against her chest like a shield and turning a bright shade of pink. “I’ll give you a minute,” she stammered, tossing the menus on the table and hastily turning tail.

Dean made a valiant effort to hide his laughter in a cough and was mainly successful. Cas turned in the booth to focus his glare on Dean, one dark eyebrow raised and eyes narrowing suspiciously. Sam cradled his forehead in his hands, sighing a little behind the swinging tent of glossy hair. “Guys, can we please just have some lunch and talk about the case? Quit embarrassing the locals.”

Cas swiveled back promptly. “Of course, Sam. As you explained before, this is a straightforward case. But why would we be interested in highly expensive collections of coins and art going missing? Isn’t this a matter for the local police?”

“Usually it would be,” Sam answered, tucking a stray hair back, “but these coins are from a collection the local museum was showing. Evidently, the art and coins are ancient, no one knows really how old they are, but some consider them to have magical properties.”

“Plus the fact that the locals have looked into it and found no way for the thieves to have entered or left,” Dean added helpfully, rolling up the sleeves to his dark green flannel shirt. “Unless teleportation is a human thing now, that might be something.”

“Well, all right,” Cas allowed, reading the menu with intense focus. “But I still don’t think this is ‘our kind of thing’.”

Dean found himself simultaneously grinning and shaking his head at the clearly audible quotation marks. “Dude, some cases turn out to be nothing, but some can be surprising. Just because it looks normal doesn’t mean it won’t have supernatural causes. Besides, when is it ever a waste to get outside and drive around in Baby?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean and Cas are heading toward the case. Instead of driving for 24 hours straight, they decide to stop in Pennsylvania. Asterix represents a change of perspective in a paragraph.

Chapter Two

 

Eleven hours later found Baby and her passengers in Butler, Pennsylvania. Dean wove his way into the town and parked in front of a short brick building. The back of a sign once lit by fluorescent bulbs hung over a single glass door entry. Sam roused himself and grimaced, scratching his head absently.

“Nice pick, Dean,” he yawned sarcastically. “Where the hell are we?”

Dean sent Sam a meaningful, annoyed look over the quieting tick of the Impala’s engine. “Dude, trust me. I know how to use Google or whatever. This place is supposed to have the best hamburgers around!”

Sam wrinkled his nose and widened his hazel eyes. “Really?”

Cas’ spiky head tilted inquiringly, his voice hopeful. “Is having excellent burgers pertinent to the case?”

Dean swung himself out of the car with a sigh, then poked his head back in, one calloused hand placed firmly on the roof. “Eat now or never, bitches,” he answered with a grin and moseyed around to the door.

Cas followed after, straightening his backward tie uselessly.  Sam ambled along behind, glad for an excuse to stretch his stork legs. The street was dark and quiet, but not menacing. Light from the windows was flowing from the front of the building, seeming almost inviting.

The bell on the frame dinged as the three entered. They were greeted by about five scruffy men mainly dressed in dingy dress shirts and slacks seated randomly along a bar and a single, bedraggled-looking man behind the counter.

“Hey you guys,” he called, looking a little tired. “She’ll be right out. Y’ant some water?”

Dean shook his head and slid into a brown vinyl booth. “You serve beers, right?”

“3 beers at table 4!” the man called to the back.

Cas slid into the opposite side of the booth and Sam followed him, shouldering Cas into the corner between the linoleum table and the peeling wallpaper.

“Dude, I am sick of greasy spoons,” Sam complained, scrunching up his face. “Is it too much to ask for a decent salad?”

“Yes,” Dean deadpanned, pursing his lips as he eyeballed the laminated menu. “C’mon, Sammy. Best burgers in town and you don’t want to try ‘em?”

“I am interested in their means of comparison,” Cas murmured lowly, squinting closely at the menu. “How are these the best burgers?”

The waitress took this opportunity to arrive at the table.

“Because they’re delicious,” she responded, tipping her head towards Cas. “Try one, sweet cheeks.”

Dean glanced over and handed her the menu back. “I’d love to,” he grinned cheekily, angling most of his charm back at Sam snarkily.

“And you?”, she asked, turning to Sam.

“I’ll take your veggie avocado burger,” Sam answered, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Dean.

“I will try your…’Gigantor Man Meal’,” Cas added, glancing up and peering at the waitress. "Is a 'Gigantor' a type of animal? Because I am unaware of”’-

“And those beers, please,” Dean interrupted Cas, using one heel to nudge Cas’ ankle under the table. “Thanks.” He dismissed the waitress with a wink, which she received with an eye roll. She left the table muttering under her breath and returned a few minutes later with three sweaty beer bottles.

Dean grabbed his and downed half thirstily. “Ah, manna from heaven!” He smiled broadly.

“Actually, manna was a food substance”- Cas began in a lecturing tone, but Sam started laughing while Dean spread his hands helplessly.

“Dude, why you gotta be such a nerd?”, Dean exclaimed. “Never mind, forget I asked. So when we get to this place, I think the first thing we have to do is get to know the museum people. Work in the town, work with suspects. Sammy, I think the nearest library ain’t that big, so you’re either on Internet duty or the next town over. Cas, you can come with me and brush up on some people skills.”

Cas’ eyebrows moved together dubiously. “I am a millennia-old creature, Dean, I am unsure what the need is for these skills.”

This time, Sam saved the day. “If you’re going to be a hunter with us, they are important, Cas. People respond to good interviewing tactics. Sometimes they will reveal something they wouldn’t otherwise if you are kind and compassionate.”

Dean sensed a surge of emotion behind those puppy hazel eyes of Sam’s, so he took over the reins before it became too sappy. “Yeah man, flies with honey and all that shit.”

Cas pulled his head back slightly, eyeing Dean suspiciously. “Dean,” he rumbled. “I am confused by your relating flies and honey to this case. Is there an insect component I am unaware of?”

This, of course, ended in hilarity among the brothers and more general teasing. Their meals came at some point, still steaming and pretty decent for burgers. Dean stuffed his mouth while relating stories and stealing fries, while Sam rolled his eyes and pretended to be grossed out. Cas mostly watched, longing for a closeness where he understood the way a person spoke, like Sam and Dean. Each said reprehensible things about the other in conversation, but what would normally get a violent reaction when spoken by a stranger seemed to create a fondness between the brothers. Unfamiliar with this jesting, even after years of experience, Cas studied it carefully.

*

The way Sam tossed the long hair from his face and leaned back with his arm along the booth, releasing that face-splitting grin. Was this a signal for Dean to throw crumpled wads of napkins at him? If Cas positioned himself in the same way, would Dean throw things at him? Did he _want_ Dean to throw things at him? It seemed like it might be entertaining to have Dean do this, which was confusing in itself. The conversation turned to past adventures, and Dean leaned forward, his calloused hands and clean-bitten nails gesturing to illustrate a point. Cas had never understood the human fascination with hands until he met Dean, but now he found himself focusing on them at random times. Something about the tanned planes and scarred knuckles was captivating, reminding Cas of their shared times together.

*

“Yo, dude,” Dean boomed, grinning and snapping his fingers, his eyes crinkled and bottle-green, beaming happiness. “Earth to Cas. You ‘bout ready to head out and find someplace to stay for the night? We still have a long way to go tomorrow.”

Cas glanced around, suddenly coming to awareness. Sam had idled over to the counter to pay and get directions for a motel. His phone was in his hand as he towered over the grizzled man at the counter, both pointing at the map on the screen. The few customers at the bar had mostly headed home and the place was growing quiet. He took a step closer and glanced up into Dean’s emerald eyes, feeling the constant, endless pull. His fingers itched with the familiar longing and Cas found himself actually clenching his hands into fists to make it stop.

“Of course, Dean,” he intoned, clearing the cobwebs from his throat. “Let’s get on our way.”

Dean grinned and stepped back from Cas as always, something uncomfortable manifesting for a microsecond before vanishing from his face. He clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder, perhaps a shade harder than necessary.

“Great, Buddy,” Dean said, his voice impersonal, closed as he glanced away. “Sam? Move out.” The tall man’s head swiveled toward them and he nodded, following with long strides as they made their way to the Impala. The moon had hidden behind low clouds, but the air was filled with cool mist that found some way to wet their fingertips and faces for the few steps to the car. Dean grumbled under his breath and creaked the door open, sandy-blonde hair already standing on end like an angry cat. Sam bit his lip and grinned while Cas slid solemnly into the back seat, sitting ramrod straight as usual. Dean settled himself in, stroked the steering wheel, and started up Baby, finding a fond smile on his lips despite his exhaustion as the deep thrum filled his ears. He was with Sammy,

The tall man’s head swiveled toward them and he nodded, following with long strides as they made their way to the Impala. The moon had hidden behind low clouds, but the air was filled with cool mist that found some way to wet their fingertips and faces for the few steps to the car. Dean grumbled under his breath and creaked the door open, sandy-blonde hair already standing on end like an angry cat. Sam bit his lip and grinned while Cas slid solemnly into the back seat, sitting ramrod straight as usual. Dean settled himself in, stroked the steering wheel, and started up Baby, finding a fond smile on his lips despite his exhaustion as the deep thrum filled his ears. He was with Sammy, Cas, and his Baby, and all was right with the world.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sam rose early, as usual, to get his jog in and pick up some coffee for Dean. He liked the early morning solitude and today was no different. Despite his first impression last night, Butler was a quaint little town with some pretty areas. A smile formed on Sam’s face as he stretched in front of the motel. Nobody seemed to be up this early except for the maid, a youngish woman with her short black hair in a ponytail. As he continued stretching, she trundled her cart by him and grinned widely.

Sam waved at her and began his run. Usually, he tried to get around three miles in, but some days he did more and some days he did less.  Today, the weather was crisp and mild, something in the air already hinting of fall.  His feet landed in an even rhythm on the pavement as his muscles began to create their own heat.  He rounded a bend and found a path that led into a park. On impulse, he followed it.

The trees were still dripping lightly from the mist last night. The center of the park was just a green area, with a few stone benches and a tiny stone bridge. Sam took the bridge but stalled in the middle to consider the almost-dry streambed below.

As he looked at the dark, wet pebbles, his mind wandered to the night before. Something was going on with Dean, and he never liked that. The chill was leaking back into his legs, so Sam stepped up his pace and jogged quickly through the rest of the green to the street. There seemed to be a cobbled walk along this way, with storefronts on both sides. Vaguely, Sam noted a thrift store, bookstore, art gallery and a pizza place. He jogged on by. Not much was open this early. On his left were a large clothing store and a smaller pharmacy.

Sam found his mind wandering again to his brother. Dean was acting strangely, seeming cranky and easily startled. A lot of it was directed at Cas, but some of it was pointed at Sam too. He loved Dean, but he wasn’t a big fan of some of the homophobic jokes and language he used. Sam wondered if he should bring it up. If Dean would want to change or even could. He shook his head to get some of the stubborn strands out of his face. This was supposed to be his Zen quiet time, and he was spending it focusing on stress. He’d never work the knots out of his muscles at this rate. He came to a stop near a public water fountain and sipped cautiously. It was very cold and metallic but hit the spot. Taking a deep breath, Sam forced his thoughts onto more productive lines and jogged on in search of coffee.

* * *

Cas revealed himself as soon as Sam closed the door. He always stayed as close to the brothers as possible, wanting to be able to protect them. Dean had recently been infuriated by Cas’ presence when he was sleeping, so Cas only made his presence known when they were awake. It seemed an equitable solution as long as neither brother asked him about it directly. Cas was capable of lying, but felt very uncomfortable doing it, especially to Dean, because they shared so much.

The hunter was sprawled on top of the covers, a heavy bottle of liquor grasped precariously in the hand that hung off the bed. The other arm was slung tight over his eyes. Dean’s mouth hung slightly open, his teeth pressing into the plush flesh of his lips. Filtered sunlight hit on the faint stubble of his chin, turning it into tiny gold filaments. His shirt was partially rucked up, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle beneath. One jeaned leg was completely on the bed, the booted heel tilted out, while the other was partially dragging on the floor. It seemed possibly the least productive way to sleep, yet Dean’s breathing was slow and deep. Cas knew from this that Dean was below the state of dreams, into the fog state where the mind heals.

Cas had lived for millennia, but still found himself capable of being simultaneously touched emotionally and pleased by human behavior in brief moments. This was one of those times.  The steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest and the low rhythm of his breath was comforting. With each inhalation, the hem of his shirt skidded up and revealed the toned skin, the color of suede but likely twice as soft. There was a buzz of longing running along the tips of Cas’ fingers, but as usual, he noted the sensation as an observer. He must not let it interfere with this precious time of focus. These timeless moments were his alone, and he cherished each one. Before long, Sam would burst through the door, all knees and elbows and steaming coffee, and the day would have to begin. But for now, Cas could look all he wanted and not be chastised. This unbearably short and yet completely sacred time was his.

Dean’s breathing began to change, and his brow wrinkled almost imperceptibly. Distressed by the fast-approaching day, Cas rushed through his normal lazy catalog, counting and memorizing the constellation of freckles along Dean’s cheeks and nose. The pleasure of the moment was coming to its end too fast for him to relish the way his vessel’s heartbeat picked up speed. Dean yawned mightily, making a deep noise in his throat and chest very close in resonance to the purr of the Impala. Cas had long since memorized this noise, but it was one of his favorites, so he listened carefully again, noting the depth and tone. The hunter stirred, the bottle beginning to slip from his fingers, and Cas was there to catch it before it shattered, placing it soundlessly by the bed. Muscled arms stretched and relaxed, and Cas’ eyes widened as each finger curled into the coral softness of Dean’s palms. It was an incredible dichotomy, the callouses just inside the creases and the eternal smoothness in the hollows. The hands made their slow retreat inward towards Dean’s chest as he began to wake. Cas was so involved in his observation, he almost forgot to seat himself at the rickety motel table, angled away from Dean, so when those mossy eyes first opened, Cas would seem to be ignoring him.

In the last nanosecond before the long black eyelashes parted, Cas whisked himself into the chair, the papers from their preliminary research just coming to rest as Dean sat up, knuckling the sleep from his eyes.

“Mornin, dude,” Dean rumbled, his voice even deeper with sleep. “Sam back yet?”

“No,” Cas answered flatly.

“I hope he gets here soon,” Dean groused as he slunk his way toward the bathroom. “My mouth tastes like ass.”

Cas decided that statement was probably not meant to be taken literally and let it pass, concentrating instead on going back through his mental catalog and squirreling it away. On days when he couldn’t see Dean, the images were there for him to hoard and ponder. He would turn them over in his mind like precious gems, these living pictures of Dean secure, happy and asleep. Just as Cas closed the mental door on this line of thinking, the shower began and Sam entered, carrying the hoped-for coffee.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas, and Sam arrive at the B&B they will be staying at for the next few days. Local color and feels ensue.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon as the Impala arrived at the parking lot of their Bed and Breakfast that evening. Dean swung Baby into a convenient space and stepped out, his boots crunching on the cracked pavement. To his surprise, the air that met his cheeks was notably cooler than earlier in the day. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and curled his fingers tight. Man, cold weather sucked. Being in the north sucked.

Sam was clambering out on the other side, having the balls to actually look refreshed. Of course, he had spent the last five hours of the day’s ride snoring away, so it was no wonder his hazel eyes were all bright and shiny.  Dean rolled his eyes as his brother zipped his jacket up and pushed his hair behind his elephant ears. Why not just cut it if it got in the way so much?

Cas slammed the Impala door a little roughly and earned a warning glance from the corner of Dean’s eye. Of course, the angel was impervious to the temperature, wrinkled trench coat open and backward blue tie swinging. Dean wondered idly if there as a hair product in the world that could keep that mop down. If there was, he mused, Sammy would know what it was. The thought made him huff a small laugh, the air turning to mist in front of him.

“Is this normal, or is this place infested with ghosts?”, Dean asked, trudging along the paved walkway.

Sam sighed. “I told you already this place was in the mountains, Dean. Don’t be a whiner.”

“Not as whiny as you, Princess,” Dean retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. Too dang cold.

Too dang cold. To his amazement, he saw a thin, dark-haired boy riding by on his bicycle, his pale cheeks reddened by the wind. Dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, the only protection the boy had against the frigid atmosphere was a threadbare grey sweatshirt, unzipped and flapping as he pedaled by. Even though Northerners were used to temperatures like this, Dean hoped it wasn't far to the little guy's house.

Dean glanced up at the B&B he had checked out yesterday on Google. It was an old farmhouse, once belonging to a dairy farmer. It sounded a little girly for Dean, but its closeness to the crime scene had been hard for him to turn down. Plus, right now all he could focus on was getting into a heated building before his balls froze off.He hustled his way up the stairs, which had an achingly frigid iron railing and seemed to be carved from two-foot slabs of stone. Sam and Cas followed after.

He swung front door open, and it led to the entryway, which the three bundled through hurriedly. They found themselves facing a wide desk with a nervous, frizzy-haired woman sitting behind it and a door marked “guest bath” on the right. An archway led to a sitting room to their left. The place was neat and clean; the familiar smell of library books and dusty attics permeated the air. The walls were covered in some flowery paper from the 1930s, and white chair rail seemed to wrap every wall in sight.

Dean marched up to the desk and leaned on it, engaging the “Silver Fox” grin that normally warmed up wrinkly old bats.

“Hello, ma’am,” He drawled. “We need a room, and we’d be so grateful if you could accommodate us.”

Watery brown eyes regarded him through thick glasses.

“All three of you?”, the lady asked, trembling slightly.

“Well, not in the same room, of course,” Dean scoffed lightly. “Do you have one with two beds?”

“Well,” the lady answered, not seeming to have quite recovered from the first question, “No. Sadly, all of our rooms are very small. In fact, there is only one bathroom upstairs, and that’s usually shared by our guests.”

Sam made a strangled sound behind Dean, but Dean ignored him and refocused his charm.

“How… quaint!” He said, hoping his smile would get them a few rooms. This place was toasty warm, and he could feel his toes beginning to thaw out.

“This is our offseason,” the lady continued, pausing to sip from a cup of coffee. “The entire floor upstairs is empty. You can stay in whichever rooms you pick and use the bathroom on your own schedule.”

“Fantastic,” Dean sighed.

Sam was back to clearing his throat, obviously trying to get Dean to take them somewhere else. Dean ignored him. So what if the Princess didn’t want to share a bathroom? He’d recover.

“My name is Janice,” the lady replied. “That will be $100 a day.”

“At least it’s cheap,” Sam muttered. Dean rolled his eyes and slid a credit card from his wallet.

“Oh!” Janice let out a dry chuckle. “We don’t take those. The mountain blocks the signal. The internet is so slow here; we’d never get anything done.”

Dean wondered exactly what shade of purple Sam was turning and grinned victoriously. “Sold,” he said, peeling off some cash. “Here’s three days.”

“Thank you,” Janice said, ringing them up on an old cash register that was nestled into the corner. She handed each a key.

“Follow me,” she said, swishing out in front of them. Dean suddenly noticed Janice was wearing an ankle-length skirt and cardigan with a collared shirt buttoned completely to her throat. _This woman shows less skin than Cas_ , he found himself thinking. Amusement battled with confusion as he wondered where that thought had come from.

“This door leads to the rooms,” Janice informed them, gesturing with the hand not holding her coffee mug.

She opened it, and they saw one door straight ahead and a stairway leading up. “That door belongs to the owners,” she explained. “The Stattons. The husband is the chef here and the wife is a nurse in the hospital in Peterborough. You can pick any room you like. Have a good sleep and Lord Bless.”

With a strange little bobbing motion that was almost a curtsey, she swished past them, leaving a trail of perfume and coffee in her wake.

Castiel blinked. “That woman is strange,” he noted flatly.

“Yep,” Dean agreed. “Well, let’s see what kind of place we’re stayin’ in.”

He hefted his duffle over his shoulder and started up. The stairs were deceptively steep, and his free hand ran along a wooden banister, rubbed smooth from generations of people passing through. The stairs took a turn to the right and Dean found himself on the landing.

There seemed to be one room on the end and a hall to the left. Sam called dibs on the room to the end and let himself in. Dean chose the furthest room from Sam and his snoring, and Cas, being himself, took the room next to Dean.

Dean had just slung his duffel onto the bed when the inevitable happened. The Holy Tax Accountant himself popped in, appearing right next to the bag.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean exclaimed. “Give a man some warning, why don’t you?”

“Dean,” Cas grumbled. “Be serious. I don’t understand why you are wasting valuable resources on a bedroom we both know I will not use.”

Dean sighed and threw the bag into a corner, sitting down next to Cas with his shoulders angled away so he could see the angel’s expression. The dark head was bowed, eyes abnormally downcast as Cas focused instead on the hands in his lap.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was firm.

When no response came, Dean carefully placed his hand on the angel’s knee and was rewarded with Cas finally looking up. What Dean saw stole his breath. Cas’ eyes were pools of icy blue, huge with unspoken thoughts. Cas tilted his head toward Dean, his face questioning.

“Cas, listen.” Dean pleaded, furiously ignoring the unexpected heat that ran from his fingers to his elbow. Distantly he wondered what kept his hand on Cas’ knee when he only meant to pat it as a comforting gesture. The thought was lost in a rush as the unknown heat spread from his elbow to his chest, somehow kicking his heart into a dizzying rhythm. Dean cleared his throat and continued his explanation. “Sometimes, when we are working a case, we do things to appear normal and human.”

Dean lifted his hand, gesturing to the twin-sized bed they sat on, which was nestled into the wall, obviously only meant for one occupant. “Humans need a place to sleep.”

Cas’ eyes dropped from Dean’s and returned to focus on his own clasped hands. His dark eyebrows were furrowed as he edged closer to Dean. The hunter’s awareness was suddenly excruciatingly sharp as everything began to hum into focus. The way the faded wallpaper curled away from the corner of the wall where the mattress nestled. The dark tone of the headboard in contrast to the cream-colored lace quilt they sat on. The shadows that stretched beneath Cas’ hands and into his lap. The dust-motes finding a place to rest on the side table. The vibration of the last few millimeters between his jean-clad leg and Castiel’s. The absolute hush as Dean breathed cautiously in and out, making an effort to keep everything even despite the sudden thunder in his ears. The thick, black, half-circles of Cas’ eyelashes, laid flat against his cheek.

Those lashes flicked once, the thin lips parted, and suddenly Dean was staring at those blue eyes. Blue was such an inadequate word for the color, he decided. Those eyes had so many tones, so light when Cas was laughing and so dark …. Now. Those black eyelashes framing them, a faint pink working up slowly along the cheekbones. He could feel Cas’ breath teasing against his face, and felt something drawing him inexorably closer…

The door slammed open with a bang, Dean jolting into a standing position on the other side of the room, Cas seemingly paralyzed. Sam’s head turned from one to the other suspiciously, then shrugged.

“We ready to talk strategy?” Sam asked.

* * *

 

As the brothers argued and strategized, Cas was left alone to ponder the situation. His thoughts were racing abnormally in his head and refused to be set in order, so he fixed his mind on his vessel instead. He had never experienced such chaotic symptoms before, even in the midst of violent battles. Not once had his vessel’s pulse deviated from its proper rate unless it was sorely injured. Cas surveyed his vessel and found no such damage. However, he sensed cascades of hormones lighting up physical responses he had only ever heard about. Something must be wrong with the vessel. Dean’s touch must have triggered a negative reaction, like a bee sting.

It felt that his heart was simultaneously racing and exploding. There was a giddy, dizzy, airless feeling in the lungs. His stomach was clenched, but instead of being unpleasant, it created warmth and a very distinct impression that Cas was sure the humans referred to as “butterflies”. Despite a lack of fever or reason for one, his skin was flushed, particularly in his face and neck. The buzz of longing he had discovered long ago in his fingers when he looked at Dean had blossomed into a raging all-over need. If this was like a bee sting, that meant Dean was having a reaction too. Bee stings could be fatal. Would this interaction cause that kind of reaction? His lungs seemed to argue for this conclusion, the air around him seeming thick and electrically charged. It was incredibly difficult to ignore and focus on the conversation.

Instead, Cas found his mind continuously wandering. Replaying each action of the last five minutes over in his mind and saving each for later. Considering what each thing meant. What had he done to prompt Dean to such a response? Cas’ mouth was unnaturally dry as he recalled Dean’s large, heavy hand on his knee. Rather than rough or quick, as most of Dean’s touches were, this was careful, planned and slow. Cas stole a look at Dean. He could sense that Dean’s heart was thudding along at a breakneck rate, but from an outside view, he seemed perfectly contained. He leaned casually against the wall, gesturing as he spoke to Sam.

A secret storm was roiling inside, though, and it mirrored the one in Cas. What had he done? He found himself fervently hoping that he had not ruined the good relationship that he had with Dean. Dean was a great many things, but affectionate was not one of them. Forcing his hand by openly seeking touch would make Dean feel uncomfortable and distressed around Cas, and make their relationship “weird”.

Cas swallowed determinedly. He would fix this. He had to fix this. He would find a way. He would figure out how to make Dean relax around him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This area is based on a real-life location. It may seem familiar to some. If so, I apologize for any discomfort/offense. Many of the OCs are based on people I know, but names have been changed to protect the "innocent". Please enjoy, comments are always appreciated, and the next chapter will be posted soon.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! First morning on the case. Dean takes a shower, and Sam meets my OC, Byrony.

Chapter Four

 

            Dean barely waited to hear Sam’s door open and close to rise from his bed the next morning. Now that the Princess was out jogging, Dean had plenty of time to take a shower. And if all the hot water were mysteriously used up by the time Sammy came home all sweaty, it would be hilarious. Dean smirked to himself, gathering his towel and shower stuff from his duffel. Glancing around, he didn’t see Cas. The dude must be in heaven or checking out leads, or whatever angels did when they weren’t around. Dean shrugged and made his way to the shower.

            It was behind a wooden door creatively marked “bathroom” in some curlicue, calligraphy script. The hinges squealed a little as he swung it open. Dean’s bare feet immediately landed on ice-cold linoleum and he sucked air through his teeth, picking up the pace. Friggin stupid cold. Stupid floor. Stupid mountain people.

            There was a toilet in a little closet behind another creatively-labelled door, two sinks with a long linoleum counter, and the shower.  Dean eyed it suspiciously, but it looked okay. It was made out of rough, painted cinderblocks, but the walls were clean and the shower head wasn’t rusty. Best of all, there was a non-stick mat on the floor so his feet wouldn’t freeze. He stepped on this and turned the water on, pleased that it almost immediately produced a good temperature. Dean liked his shower scalding, with lots of pressure so that he felt power-washed. Kinda like cleanin’ Baby, he mused and shucked off his boxers.

            He slid open the glass door and stepped in, automatically ducking to avoid water in his eyes. The water pelted down on his head, turning his sandy-blonde hair dark. He closed his eyes and gathered some in the cup of his palms, then used it to splash over his face, sighing happily. Ah, hot water and peace, finally. No more nagging brothers or lecturing angels. He absently reached for the bottle of shampoo that he had brought along and rubbed it into his hair. He loved washing his hair, probably more than Rapunzel (Sammy) did, but he kept that information from his brother. His favorite part was massaging his scalp in tiny circles with his fingers. It created a hypnotizing, drowsy effect that he just loved. He spent a few more minutes on that, rinsed and shook the remaining suds from his eyes. So far, the temperature hadn’t dropped in the shower, and steam was rolling around the bathroom, warming the tile for when he finally stepped out. Dean smiled.

            He grabbed the bottle of body soap he always hid from Sammy. Heaven forbid that snotty brat figure out that Dean used liquid soap. Evidently, only girls like Sammy used it, but Dean adored the piney scent this one had, so he used it on the sly. He gathered the liquid in his hand, liking the pearly green color of it, and began by smearing it over his chest. One of the best things about liquid soap was the way it created suds immediately, leaving no need to scrub forever with lame bar soaps. Dean hummed to himself as he ran his soapy hands down his chest, feeling the familiar planes of his body. The anti-possession tattoo stood out darkly, still as pretty as the day he first got it. Perhaps eventually he’d get more ink, he mused. He couldn’t deny the attraction of the contrast of the black lines. Perky nipples, he chuckled to himself, considering them one of his best attributes. The ladies went crazy for the tiny buds, which were close to the same tone as his skin. His hands skimmed lower. Ribs, abs. Still in pretty good shape. The hard arc of his hip bone, palpable and firm. Over his muscled thighs, which were almost always hidden (real men don’t wear shorts), and calves.

            Standing back up, Dean reached behind him to wash his shoulders, turning to let the water cascade the soap down his back. As the muscles unstrung from their habitual tension, his mind wandered to the night before. Cas had seemed so tense and frightened. Dean was well-acquainted with the things that frightened angels, and he was pretty sure this case did not include one of them. Dean’s first impulse had been to comfort Cas, and he had reached for him. He’d only meant to rest his hand on the angel’s knee, but then time had seemed to freeze; his hand had felt magnetized. Dean’s heart began to pick up at the memory, and he noticed a sudden stirring in his dick. What the fuck? Oh, no. Down, buster.

            Dean refocused his mind. He probably had a few minutes to burn before the water went cold. Might as well have some Dean time. But it wouldn’t be used thinking creepy thoughts about his best friend. Focus on the ladies. Flashes of his conquests appeared as he closed his eyes. Silky hair, incredibly soft thighs. High-pitched giggles and squeals. His favorite memories of blondes, redheads, brunettes. That one time he threw an olive-skinned, dark-haired woman on the bed and straddled her, sliding his fingers down to find eager warmth. His dick responded, leaping into his hand cooperatively as he began to stroke. This was just what he needed, he mused. Some time away to get his head straight. Another memory floated in, the same woman kneeling down and swallowing him. The way she tilted her head to suck down his cock was amazing.

            “Gah,” Dean moaned deeply, his stroking going faster. Oh, that felt so good. The heat running from his palm to his shoulder was like an electric shock. His heart was thudding in his ears, his breath short. Oh, this was amazing. This was… familiar. Dean felt his balls draw up, the furious spiral beginning in the pit of his abdomen. His heart chugged harder and harder. He imagined his hands in her hair, the dark strands tangling with his fingers. The way he grabbed the back of her head and fucked himself into her throat and she moaned greedily.

            “Aah, gnah!” exclaimed Dean, his eyes screwing tightly shut. He leaned his free hand against the cement wall, jerking his cock furiously. Oh, he was so close. He could feel his skin flushing, the rush of pleasure. He had been here before. This exact feeling, this race, this specific tempo of his pulse. In his mind’s eye, he conjured the dark head pumping along, swallowing his cock. So good. So perfect. Dean threw his head back, and in the microsecond before his release, an image of blue eyes flashed in his mind.

            “FUCK!” Dean yelled, and he was cumming, his mind’s eye conjuring Cas’ mouth wrapping around him, swallowing hungrily. Dean was powerless to stop it now, and a majority of his body couldn’t anyway, so Dean rode the runaway train, spiraling higher and higher, spilling endlessly into the image of the angel’s throat. Finally, it was over and he was spent, his cock spasming and eyes opening slowly. Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach as he viewed the last of his mind’s adventure swirling into the drain. What the fuck was that?

            He shook the now-cooling water out of his eyes, rinsed, and turned off the water, grabbing a towel with a less-than-stable hand. Maybe it was a fluke. Thinking about that weird moment with Cas last night had probably started this whole thing. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen again. He shoved creepy thoughts about his best friend to the back of his mind and roughly toweled himself off.   

* * *

 Sam’s first day on the case in New Hampshire began the same way almost every day did for him. He had just gotten up to go for an early jog. The painted screen door creaked and slammed behind him as he exited the B&B they had stayed in last night. Despite it being August, the trees here were already turning vibrant reds, golds, and oranges. He breathed the crisp, clean air into his lungs, grinned and stretched. What a fantastic day to be alive!

            With that pleasant thought, Sam took a step and hurtled forward, finding himself at the bottom of the stone steps on his hands and knees in the gravel. Sharp pieces dug into his skin and clung to his bloodied hands and knees. The laces on his left shoe were tangled and undone.

            “Fuck!”, the exclamation burst out, and Sam glanced up, hoping no one had heard.

            His eyes fell on a pair of black ankle boots, black and purple knee-high argyle socks, and the frayed hem of mid-thigh denim shorts. Swallowing, Sam winced and stood up, daring to glance at the person in front of him.

            “Sorry,” he sighed guiltily, feeling a blush beginning to crawl up his neck. He found himself staring into almond-shaped, hazel eyes.

            The woman met his gaze, arms crossed, her expression part curiosity, part smug. “Are you alright?” She asked.

            “I think so,” he answered, brushing the bits of sand stuck to his palms on his thighs and beginning to pick out the bigger pieces of gravel gingerly. “You know how much gravel sucks… er… stinks.”

            Somehow, the prim atmosphere in this town made him reluctant to swear. The woman continued to study him with amusement, her black hair sliding freely over her shoulders. “You’re bleeding,” she noted.

            Sam glanced down and grimaced. “Yeah,” he admitted.

            “Let me take you back inside,” the woman offered. “I can help you stop the bleeding.”

            “All right,” Sam answered wryly, “But only if you tell me your name. I’m Sam.”

            “You can call me Byrony,” she answered, turning and heading up the stone steps.

            “Byrony,” Sam repeated. “That’s an interesting name. I’ve never heard that before.” The woman shrugged without turning and continued inside.

            Sam followed after, noticing for the first time that she was dressed very differently from Janice, the front desk lady from the night before. This woman was close to his own age or perhaps younger. Her hair was long, the thick, straight tresses underscored by bright purple ends at the small of her back. Byrony wore a purple and black flannel over a black Metallica tee. Multiple chains ran across the back of her shorts, attaching her wallet to her thickly studded black belt.

            Inside the guest bathroom, Byrony turned to face Sam as he leaned uncomfortably in the doorframe, unwilling to go into such a small space with a woman. Sam was all-too-aware that he was much taller than most people, and tried to be careful not to loom.

            She washed her hands and wrists thoroughly and dried them, using a paper towel to turn off the faucet, and reached into a nearby cabinet for rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and bandages.

            She gestured curtly to the toilet, a thick silver bracelet tight against her wrist. “Sit.”

            “Um,” Sam protested but found himself seated on the toilet lid after one look from those tilted gold eyes. He watched as Byrony knelt swiftly on the linoleum before him, oblivious to the cool texture, using cotton balls and the bottle of rubbing alcohol to clean Sam’s knees. He winced but didn’t make a noise. He wasn’t quite the “Princess” Dean kept saying he was.

            Byrony’s movements were swift, economical and professional. She cleaned his knees, placing each used cotton ball onto a paper towel she had laid down for that purpose. Finding no debris in Sam’s skin, she carefully placed a band aid on each knee over the worst damage, picked up the paper towel without touching any of the bloody cotton balls, and threw it into the trash. Then she turned from him and washed her hands again, the corner of her lips curling up.

            Despite her palpable amusement, Sam felt relaxed enough to ask a question. “So, are you … um… related to Janice?”

            She turned off the faucet and dried her hands with another paper towel, shifting her weight onto one hip as she turned to face him. “No. She’s the manager here. I’m just here for a couple days to visit my family.”

            Sam could have sworn there was a tiny bit of humor in the last statement, but he couldn’t be sure. “Your family? Are you from here?”

            “Yes, I was born right here,” she answered while gathering the plastic bag in the waste bucket and tying it up, her boots clacking as she moved back into the office.

            Sam followed, interested. “Really?”

            “My parents, the Stattons, own this place,” she explained, tossing the trash bag into a bigger bin behind the desk and seating herself in the wooden chair. From his vantage, Sam could see the beginnings of a very detailed and colorful tattoo as the collar of her tee gaped slightly. He finally realized he had been staring at her without speaking and cleared his throat.

            “Well, thanks for patching me up,” he smiled.

            “Of course, you are our guest,” she grinned, her tone sarcastic but friendly.

            Sam, on impulse, dimpled at her. “I hope the next time we meet won’t be under such bad circumstances.”

            She tilted her head to the left, her hair sliding over her shoulders in black-purple waves, and placed her chin squarely on her fist, leaning forward. “I do too,” she answered, almost suggestively. But in the next breath, the humor returned. “Breakfast is served in an hour; Janice will be here. We also provide dinner, if you are interested. Because today is Friday, we are having spinach lasagna, garlic bread, and salad.”

            “That sounds good,” Sam smiled, extending a hand. “Maybe I will see you later.”

            “If I survive until then,” she jested, making her way back out from behind the desk. “Good luck avoiding the zombies!”, she teased, passing him on her way out.

            “Uh, you too,” Sam trailed off, not sure if that was the appropriate answer. He noticed the little purple triangles in her argyle socks were actually cartoon skulls and found himself amused. Checking his laces again, he turned to finish his run before breakfast.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking out the crime scene. Some more OCs enter the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gone back and edited prior chapters, but really didn't change much. Thank you for all your comments and kudos! It makes me so happy!

Dean paced firmly up to the yellow tape, presenting his badge at face height to the officer guarding the entrance. The guy’s eyes went wide and he stepped back, making way for Cas and Dean to pass as Cas pocketed his own badge.

“It is interesting that such a small thing can inspire such a reliable fear response,” Cas noted in his grinding, scholarly voice.

Dean turned to Cas, stopping mid-step.

“Will you keep your voice down!”, he hissed. “It’s not fear anyway, Cas, it’s respect for authority.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed slightly at the reprimand. “I’m not sure there is a difference between the two.”

Dean sighed and marched off, eager to be inside. Everything seemed to be back to normal, thank goodness, with no leftover awkwardness from last night interrupting the flow. He was relieved that his actions in the shower earlier this morning seemed to have put him back into a clear state of mind so he could focus on the case. Having his attention, or the attention of Little Dean, elsewhere, could be very dangerous in the field.

It was a long, one-story building shaped like a cross. The aluminum roof was slightly rusted but in good shape. The wood, however, was probably original to the building, perhaps a hundred years old or more. Dean noticed security cameras sweeping the front and back, with one focused directly at the door. When they reached the entrance, two officers dressed in royal blue led them to the main attraction, which was past the front desk to the left. Dean and Cas passed light walls with dark wood paneling below turned chair rail. Every few feet, there was a tapestry or tile mosaic with an explanation beside it. There was a clot of officers milling around the door to the exhibit, arguing and looking generally pissed off. Dean cleared his throat loudly.

“Anything we can do to help you, boys?” He boomed, using his Authority Voice.

Two heads swiveled to face him.

“Who’re you?”, asked a short but burly man with wide blue eyes.

“Agent Greer and my colleague Agent Williams,” Dean answered, flipping up his badge for inspection. “Our other colleague is arriving shortly. We’re here to help on this case.”

“Investigating Officer Burriss,” the short man replied, sticking out a meaty hand for Dean to shake. “You can call me Jack. Anything I can get you, anything at all….”

Dean smiled and took his hand. “Thanks,” he replied. “It’s always nice to have the cooperation of the locals. Helps us solve the case more quickly.”

“Excuse Officer Burriss’ preemptive greeting,” a deep voice interrupted with a barely-hidden snarl. “He hasn’t the authority to decide who is working on this case.”

Dean glanced up to see the other man approaching them. Powerfully built, this man overshadowed both Burriss and Dean by about half a head, and when he walked, he led with his chest, pushing it ahead of him like a heavy shield. Thick black hair covered what could be seen of his forearms and climbed out of the open collar of his chest.

“Detective Tony Kevin. I’m the lead here.” The hooded eyes glanced at Dean, sizing him up and dismissing him in one glance. Without asking, he grasped the badge out of Dean’s hands swiftly. “What the hell are the Feebs doing here?”, he demanded, peering down his hooked nose at Dean.

“Just here to help,” Dean answered, biting the inside of his cheek while he spread his hands in a placating gesture. He hated this kind of man. Stuck-up dicks with too much to prove and always had to be the hero in a situation.

“Isn’t it your duty to allow entrance into the crime scene for your superiors?” Cas interjected, his icy glare pinning the Detective and creating a heavy silence.

“One would hope,” Sam interjected, coming up behind them. “It certainly would be nice for the Detective to let us help him with his case. Doctor Samuel Erhart, Professor of Antiquities and Early Babylonian Art History at Yale.”

Dean resisted rolling his eyes. Trust Sammy to choose the posh cover. At least he pulled it off, though, his slightly messy, long hair falling into his eyes, shabby coat and round glasses that magnified his hazel eyes.

The Detective’s manner changed dramatically as he faced Sam. “Of course, Professor!” he oozed, beaming. “Please come in! We apologize for the state of affairs here. We have been expecting you! We’re so honored by your visit. We’re all great fans of your column.”

Dean arched an eyebrow at Sam, mouthing the word “column?”. His brother waited for the Detective to turn before walking by, whispering: “Charlie set up a fake ID a while ago for research.”

Dean shrugged and followed, Cas close on his heels. Detective Kevin slid his badge through the reader, grinning broadly as he explained to Sam that the owner of the museum had the only key.

“We like to keep things locked up well here,” the Detective continued, the light bouncing off the sheen of his tanned forehead. “Too much temptation otherwise. The owner lets the cleaning crew in every night for an hour after close.”

“I see,” Sam murmured, stepping slightly away as soon as he could without seeming rude. “I assume you have other pieces of the collection intact? I would really like to view them.”

As Detective Kevin regaled Sam with descriptions of their vast collection, Dean and Cas turned and walked away slowly. This room was large, with purely white walls and echoing white tiles. The atmosphere was pristine, a change from the warm and dusty hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean turned to face Cas.

“What a giant douchebag!”, he whispered.

“Let’s focus on our task. I noticed there are security cameras. The footage from them would be very useful to our investigation,” Cas replied sternly.

“Good thinking, Cas,” Dean answered, glancing around. There were indeed security cameras around the room, sweeping to and fro, allowing very little movement without being observed. He hunched his shoulder to hide the EMF reader as he walked along the edge of the wall.

“That is not necessary, Dean,” Cas grumbled. “I do not sense anything here.”

“Sorry,” Dean shrugged, sliding the EMF back into his jacket pocket. They came upon a display of an old manuscript. “Hey, Cas, check this out. Pretty cool, huh?”

Cas leaned over Dean’s shoulder, peering at the glass. His breath tickled Dean’s left ear. Dean’s heart began to thud again in his chest as each second suddenly slowed. He could feel the strong fingers of Cas’ left hand pressing lightly against his shoulder blade, spreading heat in concentric circles from each point of contact. Dean’s lungs were suddenly too full and too empty, and he swayed, dizzy. Cas’ right hand landed firmly on his hip.

“Dean!” Cas’ voice was sharp with worry. “Are you alright?”

Dean shook his head viciously, scattering the racing thoughts from his mind. “Yeah man, just lightheaded,” he answered gruffly, pulling away. “Must have not eaten enough.” He turned his back on Cas and stomped off abruptly to the other side of the room.

* * *

 

Cas stood very still, his vessel’s heart still erratically pumping. He faced the scroll again, to give himself a moment to clear his thoughts. What had just happened? From an outside view, nothing untoward had occurred. Dean had called him over, and he had looked. But something infinitesimal had changed between them; with their interactions. Cas had seen the creep of color that had just begun to form around the white border of Dean’s collar. He had seen the man swallowing thickly as his stubbled jaw reflexively tensed. All these seemed to mirror the strange symptoms Cas had noticed in his own vessel.

Perhaps this case was causing a physical side effect? The pages lay unrolled beneath the glass, blameless. It was an old tale, carried by oral tradition before it was transcribed in the 8th century. As he felt his vessel’s heartbeat and breathing return to a normal pace, Cas again moved to join Dean in browsing some small bronzes from around the same century.

* * *

The air was tense here, but Cas kept a careful space around Dean, watching him closely. “These guys look like warriors,” Dean noted, his voice gruff.

Cas made a noncommittal noise.

“Guess we better get at it,” Dean sighed and walked to the glass display in the center.

It was surrounded by a velvet rope barrier, which Dean stepped over lightly. Cas followed, taking care not to tangle his coat. The glass box stood in front of them, the dark wooden box where the coins had been mockingly empty. Cas circled the display, eyeing it from every angle while Dean knelt, examining the corners.

“There’s an alarm here if the glass is lifted off,” Dean noted. “And four cameras aimed right at us. I can’t see how anybody could get in here past all this and not get caught.”

Something gleamed, catching the corner of Cas’ eye. He leaned forward, squinting, and finally found it.

“Dean,” he announced in a rumble, “I can see a few grains of sand in the bottom of the box.”

“Huh,” Dean shrugged, still examining the pedestal. “Could’ve come from the box.”

“Perhaps,” answered Cas, peering around. “I don’t sense anything out of order here.”

As Dean and Cas were looking at the central exhibit, Sam finally had the opportunity to disengage himself from the Detective. That guy was pretty smarmy, but that could be expected in a small-town force like this. Sam knew that private museums commonly depended on universities for funding, and important professors could help get grants. Silently, he sent a prayer of thanks to Charlie for her aid setting up the fake ID. The idea had been his, but she had done such a thorough job, Sam was almost sure he actually had a PhD at this point.

Most of the museum’s collection was from the pre-Islamic period in Iraq. He pulled out a small notebook and began scrawling notes. There was a collection of bronzes, a few pieces of jewelry, and the miniature paintings common to the era. As he rounded the room, Sam slowed his pace to give himself a few more minutes before rejoining Detective Kevin.

He found himself studying a manuscript on display. This was from a different era than the rest of the items but still looked very old. Sam slid his notebook into his pocket to free his hands for his phone. He wanted some pictures for later reference. Carefully, he tilted his body to block any glare from the light above. He waited for the image to solidify, his finger hovering over the button.

“We can remove the glass if it would help matters,” Detective Kevin’s voice boomed from Sam’s right.

Sam’s hands twitched convulsively, and the phone slipped from his fingers. He grasped at it, fumbling, and felt his heart drop as the phone landed on the tiles with a distinctive crack. Dean and Cas looked up from their search, both assessing the situation. Detective Kevin winced into the suddenly heavy silence.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he added lamely.

Sam knelt and grabbed the phone, turning it over and sighing inwardly. The entire glass front of the phone had shattered. He knew he should have sprung for that protective case, even though Dean said it made him look like a middle-aged nerd. He had just gotten this phone, and it had taken quite a chunk out of his borrowed (stolen) credit card. Sure, he could get another, but he would have to go through the trouble of finding a new credit card first.

Detective Kevin took a step back, trying on a grin he probably hoped was reassuring. “There’s a place in Peterborough that can fix that for pretty cheap. Nothing here, though, sorry.”

Ugh. Sam’s mood dropped even further. Peterborough wasn’t that far, but that meant he’d either have to rent a car or steal one. There was no way Dean would let him take the precious Impala away from him. Speak of the devil, his bowlegged older brother was finally approaching, sending a dark look at the detective.

“Everything okay here?” Dean asked, chest inflated with his arms firmly crossed. Cas hovered at Dean’s shoulder, his expression no less threatening than Dean’s.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam answered quickly before it turned into a dick-measuring contest. “Just dropped my phone. I’m gonna have to go get a new one.”

Dean relaxed immediately. “Well that sucks,” he huffed.

“Don’t leave just yet,” placated the detective. “We have a whole other wing you haven’t seen yet. Would you like to take a look?”

“Of course,” Sam responded.

* * *

 

The second wing was on the other side of the entrance and included similar objects, which Sam studied with interest. Although there was a display of bronzes, this wing did not have a manuscript like the first. He jotted down some notes while Dean and Cas checked out the security measures here. Like the first wing, this one also had a glassed-in display, which Cas and Dean examined closely. It was a gold-handled dagger from the 9th century. The blade shimmered lowly in the overhead light, curving slightly like a claw.

“Awesome,” Dean breathed, his jade-green eyes glowing reverently. “Who do you think got ganked with this?”

“Probably no one,” answered Cas, studying the blade. “This kind of weapon was usually a symbol between diplomats of loyalty.”

“Shame,” Dean replied. “Thing like that could do a bit of damage.” He glanced up at Cas, dimpling. “I wish we could try it out.”

“I do not think that would be feasible,” Cas intoned solemnly, narrowing his eyes.

“I doubt that thing’s usable anyway, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “That fancy handle has got to be uncomfortable to hold.”

Dean snorted, waving them both off. “You two just don’t appreciate bling,” he scoffed.

Cas’ dark head gave the familiar tilt. “Why would this ‘bling’ be an important feature? Isn’t a weapon the most desirable for its functionality?”

Dean grinned back. “Yeah man, but you gotta appreciate style.”

“But my blade doesn’t possess any of this decoration,” Cas pointed out. “Yet you yourself have noted its excellent ability to defeat our enemies.”

“Well, your angel blade may not have gold on it, but simplicity can also be beautiful,” Dean answered, fighting a blush.

Detective Kevin approached. “That’s everything here,” he said, addressing Sam and ignoring the others.

“Thank you, Detective,” Sam smiled back, playing his role up slightly by pushing his glasses back up his nose and peering down at his notes. “Is there any way it could be possible for me to see the records of the things kept here?”

“Of course!” the Detective was quick to reply. “I will get them to you right away.”

Sam glanced over at Dean. “Perhaps my FBI friends could be of more help if they could view the security footage from the day in question.” His voice was carefully nonchalant.

Detective Kevin tensed visibly but sighed. “I suppose we could use another set of eyes.”

“Excellent!” Sam responded. “I will be sure to add all of this to my column. I am certain that this will be an exciting change for my fellow professors from the usual fare.”

Detective Kevin beamed, shoving his chest out further than Sam thought was humanly possible and radiating satisfaction. “We’re very proud to be of service, professor.”

“Your cooperation will definitely be featured in my work,” Sam assured him. Dean sensed a minuscule whiff of sarcasm, but the Detective seemed pleased.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas and Sam have a conversation in the Impala. The group decides to split, leaving Dean alone with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely kudos and comments! I feel so encouraged!

Chapter Six

 

After a long day of looking over the crime scene and squeezing every last bit of information out of the Detective, Sam, Dean and Cas finally exited the building. Burris waved at them from his position at the yellow tape as they passed by. Dean nodded back briefly. 

Once they reached the Impala, Dean, Cas and Sam took their habitual seats and Dean revved her up to get the heat cranking. Thankfully, warmth spread quickly from the hard-working fan.

Dean broke the silence when his teeth finally quit chattering. “So, when were you going to inform me that you had a new ID?”

“This morning,” Sam answered defensively. “At least I would have if you hadn’t jumped the gun and gotten here before me.”

Dean snorted, rolling his green eyes. “I’m not waiting on your girly ass to finish dressing, Sammy. Time’s a-wastin'. Gotta get a move on this case.”

“Speaking of which,” Sam interjected, annoyed, “What’s up with the water?”

Dean shook his head, unable to reply around the silent fit of giggles that seized him.

“Dean took a lengthy shower today,” Cas answered, head tipped and blue eyes innocently wide. “He was mastur”--

“Gross!” Sam howled, covering his eyes dramatically. 

“Wait. You  _ saw _ that?” Dean inquired, half-turning to eyeball Cas.

Cas shrugged noncommittally. “There is nothing wrong with masturbation, Dean. Many cultures find the release of endorphins to be helpful in aiding”--

“Alright, that’s it, enough!” Dean interrupted, banging his hand on the steering wheel and trying to hide the blush that rose in his cheeks. 

The tips of his ears were burning. Hastily checking behind him, Dean peeled out of the parking lot, jamming the radio on with his right forefinger. The sappy strains of Coldplay blasted back at him, and he slammed on the brakes, swerving onto the side of the road. 

“Really, Sammy?!?” Dean bellowed, fixing his brother with a glare.

But Sam was immune, collapsing into helpless laughter, gasping and hooting like some long-legged lake loon.

Dean growled, punched the eject, grabbed the cassette. With a single gesture, he cracked the casing, tossed it in the back and gave Sam the finger. Sam was still laughing hysterically, the tremors from his giant body shaking the car. Fuming, Dean stepped out and slammed Baby’s door, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the cooling metal.

For a few moments, he huffed, the icy-damp air cooling the heat from his face and ears. This place was so serene. He had pulled into a field that was bordered by a stone wall, someone’s big backyard. The grass here was knee-high, rough and gold from days of sunlight. His breath misted in front of him as Dean glanced around. He could hear Canada geese flying by, smell the fertile piles of leaves. 

Somewhere nearby, a group of kids was shouting and playing, their voices creating piping echoes. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of them strolling through, tossing a football on their way home. Dean smiled to himself, wondering if this was how his life would have been, had the situation been different. Without monsters, without crazy shit and the world ending every damn minute. Just a casual stroll through a field with your friends.

They were all about the same age range, from ten to twelve, this group of four boys. The tallest was also the oldest, towheaded and puppyish in a way that reminded him of Sam. There were two in the middle, chunky little brawlers bundled up tight in jackets with beanies, and then a scrawny brown-haired one dragging behind, mooning around in a dream world, a thin sweatshirt hanging half off one shoulder.

Cas appeared to Dean’s left. “I apologize for embarrassing you,” his tone was serious, slightly worried.

Dean turned to face him and had to step back or bump noses. “Seriously, though? Space?” He groused, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Cas waited, watching him with patient, cerulean eyes, head at that same old cat-like tilt.

“Why you gotta always be like this?” Dean inquired, peevishly.

“Like what?” Cas inquired.

“Distant. Alien,” Dean said, regretting it the moment it slipped out.

Something flinched in Cas’ gaze, but he didn’t blink. “I am an angel of the Lord, Dean.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean sighed, waving it away. “I don’t know what I meant.”

“Sometimes it can be hard to explain emotions,” Cas agreed, closing the space between them by a hair.

Dean froze, afraid to breathe. Afraid to exhale, since it would hit Cas directly in the face and who knew what his breath was like now? And why the hell was he worrying about what his breath was like anyway, he raged to himself. The moment slithered by like cold molasses, the setting sun turning everything honey-bronze. He couldn’t move, though. This rush was too crazy. It was a delicate bubble of held breath and hyperactive heart rate. That face, ageless, immortal, like a sculpture by Michelangelo, so very close to Dean’s. Those depthless, hypnotic blue eyes, beginning to glow with a hint of grace. Dean’s skin prickled, raising up the way it does right before the lightning hits. 

And then, he finally couldn’t fight it anymore. Dean stepped back and exhaled, allowing the icy air to rush back into his lungs.

“Sam is no longer laughing,” Cas noted blandly. “Shall we continue?”

Dean nodded mutely and opened Baby’s door.

* * *

 

That evening, Dean and Cas stayed in to view the footage from the video camera on the laptop. Sam left for Peterborough, planning to get his phone fixed when the shop there opened in the morning. As soon as they entered Dean’s room, Dean shucked off his jacket and tossed it in the corner, sighing mightily.

“What a day,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed and rolling his neck. 

He rummaged in his duffel and came out with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two metal cups. He waved one at Cas, who shook his head. 

“Your loss,” Dean shrugged, stowing the cups and taking a healthy swig directly from the bottle. “I need some. Today sucked. That Detective is a stuck-up ass.”

“Indeed,” Cas agreed, leaning against the opposite wall. “Dealing with humans socially is exhausting. I do not know where you find the patience.”

Dean laughed and took another swig, shaking his head wryly. “Dude, you have to loosen up. It makes you look strange if you are all… stiff.”

“I am unsure of your meaning,” Cas rumbled. “My vessel’s muscles are exerting the amount of stress needed to hold my weight.”

“See?”, Dean laughed, gesturing at Cas vaguely. “This is what I am talking about.”

Cas just glared at Dean, his blue eyes narrowed and head at the classic tilt. Dean finally took pity on him and stood up, closing the gap until he was less than a foot from the angel.

“Dean,” Cas protested, his deep voice soft, “I thought you said you preferred more space.”

Dean’s lips twitched, still gleaming with liquor. “I do,” he rumbled, “But I have to show you something.”

Dean placed the bottle behind him on the side table without looking.

“It’s warm in here,” he observed, resting his calloused hands on Cas’ shoulders and gently lifting the lapel on his overcoat. “Normal humans don’t wear two jackets inside.”

With that, Dean leaned forward, his hands sliding the coat over Cas’ shoulders and down his arms. As he did so, Dean caught a hint of Cas’ scent, light as spring rain. Cas’ eyes remained on his as Dean finished pulling the overcoat down, neither of them noticing it puddling to the floor at their feet. The familiar pull had already begun, Dean’s chest tightening as his heart seemed to double its pace. Reality narrowed to just this breath, just this moment, just Cas. That incredible arctic eye color, brilliant, unfathomable, and so distinctly un-human it boggled his mind that no one else seemed to notice it. Cas’ breath huffed into the space as he took a minute shuffle forward, hands hanging scant millimeters from Dean’s. They swung in unison, pendulums about to meet, as Cas tilted his face up, the dark eyelashes sliding closed. Dean’s mouth hovered above his as they exchanged breath, electricity running over their lips.

A losing battle had begun in Dean’s mind the moment he picked up that bottle of Jack. It was a battle of justification, and God Almighty, he knew it but allowed it in his mind anyway. He told himself it was perfectly within the normal realm for a dude to take off another dude’s coat. Totally casual, completely platonic. And the way he was doing it was exactly the way a friend would, too. Because best friends always slid their hands down each other’s arms and hovered in each other’s space. 

Sometimes guys took off each other’s coats, totally. And breathing each other in was completely not romantic or gay at all. He was sure if it was, it would feel gross, and this did not feel gross. This was the opposite of gross. This was awesome. It was somewhere in this line of thought that Dean’s logic, already slightly suffering from the two hearty gulps of Jack, began to give weak protests.

A tiny flicker of an image reminded Dean of his thoughts in the shower. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to try this out. After all, it seemed like it would feel nice. Something about the thought had pushed Dean over the edge and into an amazing orgasm. Surely it would be okay to just brush Cas’ lips with his own. Dean’s lips tingled with the thought, his breath coming faster. It wasn’t weird. Just an experiment.

Sensing defeat of libido over logic, the remaining arguments he had so carefully marshaled against this evaporated before the powerful heat of  _ need _ running like fire down Dean’s limbs. Denial was for losers. Trying to stamp this wild craving down again, and again was blatant idiocy. 

Dean, completely consumed, surrendered to it and closed the distance. Inquiringly, he cupped Cas’ cheek in his left hand, locking gazes. Those dark eyelashes were splayed wide, the deep blue eyes soundlessly searching Dean’s as Cas relaxed. The rough scrape of stubble pricked at Dean’s palm as Cas rubbed his cheek into the contact, raising both hands to frame Dean’s face. His touch was firm, precise but not harsh, and although Cas was a warrior, Dean felt almost no callous from his palms. The softness was delicious.

Suddenly, Cas’ eyelids fluttered and squeezed closed, and before Dean could catch his breath, they crashed together. Lips suddenly and finally in contact, fervently proclaiming  _ mineminemine _ . Dean’s breath was almost knocked from his lungs at the warm mouth on his, but he couldn’t get enough of that sweet, heady flavor. His hands flew into Cas’ dark hair as he drew that face up to allow better access. Dean licked madly into Cas’ mouth, finding soft wetness. Cas’ hand roughly gripped the back of his neck, drawing Dean’s face in. Dean’s mind was long gone, instinct driving his body. Their tongues met as Dean pulled Cas impossibly tighter. He longed for more of that taste, to find every single part of that mouth he had fantasized about for years.

Cas began to suck on Dean’s tongue, pulling it in and nibbling slightly. Dean gasped hoarsely, his head suddenly thrashing back as Cas furiously kissed the corner of his mouth and down his jaw. The sensation was maddening and heart-stopping as Cas began to methodically taste every bit of Dean’s neck. Licking and sucking turned quickly into nipping, which drove Dean’s chin higher and forced deep moans from his lips. His green eyes had rolled back, his blonde head lolling in Cas’ hands, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. The pleasure-pain of Cas’ teeth rendered him nearly incapable of speech, his hands tightening on Cas instead.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, the muffled strains of Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady” began to emanate from the folds of Dean’s coat.

Dean pulled back, turning away, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, Sam,” he answered curtly.

A moment passed, Dean’s wide shoulders and back to Cas, hunched together tensely. His face was only partly visible, a fraction of hardened jaw and hollow cheek.

“Good,” Dean nodded, in answer to something Sam had said. 

Another moment passed, Sam asking something. 

“No, nothing important,” Dean replied, waving his arm dismissively. “What’s up?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have reactions to chapter six.

Cas returned himself to his room with a thought. His vessel’s heart rate was just beginning to slow, accompanied by a new, unfamiliar ache. The sensation of Dean’s lips still remained, now a phantom, on his own. The kiss had been too fast, terrifyingly out of control. Something akin to possession had risen from his vessel, overcoming his mental discipline and driving his hands forward to grasp the back of Dean’s head. 

Cas sat on the bed, finding for the first time that the position seemed one of comfort rather than compliance to social cues. He placed his elbows on his knees and cradled his forehead against his palms, his dark hair falling over his fingers and shutting out the light. His breath resounded, crashing rhythmically against the shell of his ears. His thoughts floated, tangled and confused, in the darkness. Despite his resolutions, he had failed to fix the chasm between him and Dean. In fact, he had somehow managed to widen it further. 

Torn between fear and fury, Cas rose to his feet, dashing his hands across his eyes. He must not allow this again. He was a warrior, and this kind of interaction could endanger countless innocent lives. He must focus on the case.

A hesitant knock sounded on his door, followed minutes later by Dean’s subdued voice. “Cas? You in there, man? You okay?”

Cas debated not answering, but discarded the thought, finding it childish to avoid an awkward situation. “Of course, come in, Dean,” he answered.

Dean stepped in but remained in the doorway, the door halfway between them.

“I’m sorry about that, man,” he began.

“It’s my fault,” Cas interrupted coolly. “I apologize, Dean. I should never have initiated such a close physical interaction with you.”

“Such a….” grass-green eyes narrowed, something deep inside them closing, like window blinds. “Dude, it was a kiss.”

“I am familiar with the term,” interjected Cas, annoyed.

“Are you saying…” Dean’s freckled cheeks pinked as he studied the floor, “that you didn’t, um, enjoy it?”

A microsecond passed where Cas sensed a strange mix of embarrassment and hope lighting Dean’s soul. Dean huffed a little, his shoulders slumping downward.

“Cuz I mean, we don’t have to…” Dean’s voice trailed off.

Cas blinked, puzzled. “Of course I enjoyed it, Dean,” he reprimanded. “You experienced that kiss just as I did. I know your body responded like mine.”

Dean straightened, a cocky grin stretched across his face.

“Well, I am a mighty fine kisser,” he agreed, winking.

Cas sensed where the line of conversation was headed and cleared his throat, forcing fevered images from his thoughts. 

“Was that Sam?” he asked instead.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, leaning back against the door frame, his expression closed. “He just wanted to whine about the motel. They had a room available, but he had to kick out the people in it first.” Dean chuckled flatly. “Poor bastard. He’s gonna stay tomorrow, get the phone fixed and check out the bigger library while he’s  there. We can start canvassing the town while he’s gone.”

“Excellent idea, Dean,” Cas answered, quashing the voice that demanded he close the distance between them. “I will see you in the morning, then.”

“Yup,” Dean nodded, sucking his teeth and eyeing Cas.

The hairs on Cas’ skin stood as he felt those bright green eyes pass over his face and body like a caress. For a moment, he fought the desire to go to Dean, to feel the firm, hot flesh on his own. Their breathing echoed in the silence as Dean dug his fingers into the door frame, leaning closer. Cas’ feet moved of their own accord, taking him the last step before he could argue. 

This time there was no hesitation, no breathless second of decision. Cas reached decisively, hands firmly locked into Dean’s hair, and brought him down. Again they were kissing, wild and deep, sucking and licking. Dean’s mouth was warm, the sweet honey-burn of liquor still lingering there. 

Cas felt himself falling toward the fiery pit of desire. Dean groaned, his voice vibrating against Cas’ lips, driving him further toward bliss. Cas pulled Dean further in, one hand in his hair, the other sliding down to press the palm between Dean’s shoulder blades.

Dean slid his hands between them, palms resting on the firmness beneath Cas’ dress shirt. With an effort, he pushed back to gasp some air. Cas remained where he was, panting, eyes narrowed and glowing.

“Dean,” Cas rumbled, both promise and warning.

“I know,” Dean answered, those green eyes glowing with answers. “I’m not sure I can do this, Cas. I don’t know if I…. if we… should.”

With a Herculean effort, Cas mastered himself, taking a step back. 

“I understand,” he answered truthfully. “I will always be by your side, Dean, no matter what you choose. We share a bond, you and I. And if you decide you are ready, I will be here, willing.”

Dean sighed, his shoulders dropping. 

“Let’s just focus on the case,” he finally said when he looked back at Cas.

“Agreed,” nodded Cas, and stepped back neatly. 

Dean slid from the door and turned, hearing it click into place behind him.

* * *

 

As soon as he was in his room, Dean leaned against the door and expelled the breath he had been holding. He let the growl of frustration that had been building for the last few minutes finally escape while he banged his forehead repeatedly against his palm.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He scolded himself. 

He didn’t know whether his anger was frustration from walking away or guilt from allowing it to go this far. Shame spread its oily tentacles in his gut, and he sat down heavily on his bed, grasping the neck of the neglected liquor bottle. This was a mess all right, and the only thing that would fix it would be Dr. Jack.

He slugged it, the burning sweet liquid running eagerly down his throat. Almost immediately, the warmth spread, relaxing the knots and fogging his thoughts. He lay down on the bed, pillowing his head in his arms and closing his eyes against the view of the ceiling. 

Part of him was still glowing, tingling, filled with sensation. Oh God, that mouth! Dean licked his lips, still tasting Cas. In all the time he had spent fantasizing about his best friend (which was totally not creepy), Dean had never visualized that kiss. It was desperate, pulling, almost an attack, and Dean had leaned in, eager for more. Those powerful hands, pulling him down, melding him into position. 

Dean’s heart raced, his chest and body suddenly very aware as a new thought occurred to him. Those same strong, angelic hands that had gripped him so tightly and woven him together when he returned from Hell. How would it feel to have that firm, masterful touch on his body? Dean felt his head rock back, his eyes slide shut as each imagined caress flamed down his limbs.

Just as he felt a surge of need in his gut, an intrusive voice in his mind shut it down.  _ What was I thinking? _   The whisper demanded, deep in his thoughts.  _ Cas couldn’t possibly want that. Not with me. _ Somewhere deep in the dregs of his memory, John Winchester glared at him, burly hands fisted into young Dean’s shirt. 

“Don’t think you’re something you aren’t, boy,” John had snarled. 

Dean swallowed.  _ No shiny angel is going to want a dirty meat bag _ , whispered the insidious voice. It was true, and Dean knew it. He was just a puny, powerless human, not worthy of the Angel of the Lord. Despite his strongest efforts, he only damaged everything he touched. It was the family curse. 

John Winchester’s voice came again from the past. 

“Hunters don’t get attached,” he had yelled. 

And Dean knew it was true. All these feelings were just distractions from the case, and he couldn’t allow that. And so Dean squeezed his eyes shut, created a box in his mind for all this mess, and slammed it shut. Time to focus on reality and quit daydreaming about things that could never come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so short! The next one will be longer. As always, I appreciate your kudos and comments.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam spends time in Peterborough. There is a new development in the case, so Dean and Cas go to investigate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with me! Keep hanging on, the story does get better, I promise! :)

 

Sam woke up unusually grumpy the next day. His head was pounding from the shitty pillow provided and thumping bass those kids next door had been blaring all night. Scratching his neck absently, Sam peered into the room’s fridge. Empty, of course. He sighed heavily and donned his usual tee shirt, navy blue flannel, and jeans, and headed out the door.

Fuck! It was cold. He turned to open the door to the motel and the handle of the door clicked. Sam’s heart sank. Had he just left the key in the room?

“No, no, no!” Sam whispered, jiggling the door knob. On the other side of the patio, he saw a solid woman with bleached blonde hair pulling a housekeeping cart. He kicked away the gritty sand at the doorstep as he made his way to her.

“Excuse me,” Sam said with his most polite smile, “Are you with housekeeping?”

Squinting, cat-green eyes regarded him skeptically. 

“No, I just like to steal carts,” The woman retorted, her garish red lips loudly smacking around an enormous wad of bubble gum.

“Listen,” Sam continued, “I forgot my key in my room over there in 4B. Do you think maybe you could let me back in, since you have a key?”

Shiny red talons attached to pudgy fingers tapped impatiently on the cart.

“Sure,” she said, her voice flat. “Do you have any ID? I can’t let you in if you can’t prove it’s your room.”

Sam glanced down, reading her name tag.

“Look, Karen,” he begged. “I just got dressed. I left my wallet and everything inside. Please, I really need my stuff.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits in her pasty face. 

“You could be a thief,” she pointed out nastily.

Sam bit back a sigh.

“I promise I am not,” he grinned again, presenting his Adorable Schoolboy Face.

Karen huffed, rolled her eyes and shoved past Sam aggressively, using the cart to forge her way.

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t blame me if you get arrested.”

“Thank you so much!” Sam exclaimed, already beginning to shiver in the icy wind.

Karen stopped at the door and bent as she slid the key in the lock. She opened it, rolled the cart back over Sam’s foot aggressively, and stood there, hand stiffly out in demand. Sam took the hint and grabbed his jacket and ID, thumbing a few fives from his pocket. He lay them precisely onto the pink palm, not wanting to encounter the surely sticky surface of her skin.

“Have a good day,” Karen said dryly and trundled off.

Sam made sure he had his room key when he left.

* * *

 

A panicked thudding on the door catapulted Dean from sleep, his hand habitually grasping the pistol as his booted feet hit the floor. Cas appeared behind him, stern and disheveled, as Dean cracked the door open.

Janice the front desk lady was there, her round face streaked with a continuous fountain of tears, her thin body wrapped tightly in a faded bathrobe.

“Someone died!” She gasped, trembling visibly. “You have to come at once!”

As soon as she turned away, Dean slid his gun out of eyesight behind his belt, throwing on his coat and following her down the hall. He placed a hand on Janice’s retreating shoulder and she shrunk back but turned to face him, keeping a distance.

“Was it someone you knew?” Dean asked. 

Dammit, Sammy was much better at this sympathy crap than he was.

Janice swallowed thickly and blinked, a fresh torrent of tears emerging behind her thick glasses.

“No,” she answered. “Just a man in our town, we’ve never met. But just think! How terrible! Those poor, poor people!”

Dean glanced sideways at Cas as the woman dissolved into tears again. This time Cas moved forward.

“Janice, perhaps you could explain how we can be of assistance?”

“Well,” she gulped, “You people are FBI. Maybe you should go over and investigate?”

Dean stared at the woman disbelievingly. 

“Ma’am, we are very sorry, but usually the local authorities deal with deaths in the area.”

At this, Janice pointed a single, wavering finger at him, pulling herself up to her full height of five feet regally.

“The very least you can do is go take care of those people,” she said, her declaration slightly tarnished by the warble in her voice. “I don’t care what fancy liberal government agency you come from, we’re all equal under the Lord.”

“Of course we will, Ma’am,” Cas intoned. “Just give us the address and we will be on our way.”

Reaching into the pocket of her bathrobe, Janice retrieved a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Cas.

“Lord protect you on your journey,” she said, her tone automatic as she bobbed formally and left.

Dean waited until she had closed the door at the bottom of the stairs to let the sigh he had been hiding escape. 

“The people here, man. Weird.” He whistled and rolled his eyes toward Cas.

“I am unsure of what you’re referring to, Dean,” Cas retorted stiffly. “It’s normal human behavior to have an emotional reaction to death.”

Dean shrugged a little. 

“Maybe if it’s someone she knew. But this dude is all the way across town. She seemed pretty worked up.”

“Perhaps she is just sensitive emotionally,” dismissed Cas.

Dean zipped up his jacket and led the way to the Impala. It was 5:30 in the morning, and still pitch dark outside. The one lantern outside the B&B shed a sickly yellow light down the stone steps. Dean jogged down them, the icy predawn air assaulting his cheeks. 

“Fuckin’ freezing,” he muttered darkly. 

Cas followed, overcoat snapping with his strides.

Reaching Baby’s driver side door, Dean paused and glanced at Cas. Cas met his eyes, head tilted in the eternal question. Dean sighed. 

“Dude, we okay?”, he asked.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replied, and that was that.

Not wanting to give the Northern climate more time to freeze his balls off, Dean opened the door and swung into Baby’s interior, starting the engine. Cas took his habitual seat, and Dean glanced at him in the rearview mirror. 

“Dude, no,” Dean ordered. “It looks like you’re a criminal. Sit with me like a normal person.”

Cas materialized in the passenger seat, turning to face Dean.

“As you wish, but I am not a normal person,” he intoned, and Dean could have sworn there was a glimmer of a smile there.

“Nobody in this family is normal,” Dean answered, allowing himself a chuckle. “Just ask Sammy the Sasquatch.”

It took about ten minutes in the Impala to reach the address Janice had given them. As Dean slowed Baby to a rumble, he saw a low brick mini mall lit by a single street light. A massive black Suburban with a blue strobe was parked nearby.

“I bet Detective Kevin is here,” Dean observed. “Only douchebags take up four parking spots.”

Cas made no reply, following Dean as he walked over. Beyond the Suburban, a group of people huddled, speaking in low voices. A dark head swiveled, noted their presence, and Dean felt himself roll his eyes inwardly.

“Agents Greer, Williams,” boomed the familiar voice as Detective Kevin swung himself towards them. “What are you doing out so early this morning?”

“Janice told us,” Dean answered honestly. “She pretty much insisted we come.”

“Ah,” the Detective nodded, seemingly unmoved by the icy weather. “Well, you can tell her you came and the situation was handled by the authorities.”

Dean decided to push it a little. 

“When she told us someone died, I assumed she meant someone old died in their house. Is this a crime scene?”

To Dean’s satisfaction, the Detective blustered slightly. 

“No crime has been committed that we know of,” he dodged.

As Dean nodded, Burriss approached hastily, his blue eyes wide. 

“Sir!” Burris hissed, pulling on Detective Kevin’s burly arm. “You should come! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Huffing, the Detective turned away, gesturing behind him for Dean and Cas to follow. The temperature warmed as they made their way through the glass door, a tiny bell above them tinkling as they entered. The acrid smell of ash and burnt plastic hit along with the heat, causing Dean’s nose to wrinkle as he glanced around. The three stood crowded just inside, surveying the scene. 

To the right, the bright-painted wall supported a half-shelf with limited edition toys lined up, still in their packaging. A linoleum countertop with a register stood in front, blocking customer access to the most expensive items. The center of the store was mainly populated with wooden bookshelves, with a few bean bags scattered on a ratty carpet towards the back. The back and left walls were covered almost completely with posters from movies, tv, and comics.

To the left, a series of bookshelves faced in from the corner, a heavy white sheet covering a large shape in the corner. Dean took a step forward, studying the shelves. Each shelf had a section of comic books, divided alphabetically. The entire left front corner of the bookcase was charred, almost as if someone had set fire to it intentionally. What he could see of the dingy linoleum floor under the heavy white sheet was also streaked black from flames. 

He glanced up to see Cas nodding meaningfully. This was no normal death. About half the comic books that had been stacked on the shelves had fallen down, but there were enough that Dean could see the shelf was holding the end of the alphabet, going from the letter R to Z. He glanced around the store, finding the rest in order.

“Huh,” He murmured speculatively.

“What?” the Detective demanded, standing protectively close to the form covered by the heavy white sheet.

“It seems strange that only this part of the shelf is gone,” Dean pointed out, gesturing. “Why didn’t the rest of it go up, too?”

The Detective shrugged. 

“Maybe it started here,” he answered. “A spark from the outlet, short in the power, whatever. The guy catches fire, stumbles into the bookshelf and wham.”

“This victim?” Cas inquired. “Who is he?”

The big man quirked his lips, obviously unhappy with his unintentional slip.

“The owner, Alex Caulder.”

“Did he have any enemies? Financial problems?” Dean pushed.

“Not that I know of. He kept to himself. Kind of a weird little nerd type selling to weird little nerd types,” the Detective waved them off. “I think this is just an accident, guys. I’m just waiting on the coroner to come and take him away. EMT was already here.”

Cas was about to protest, but Dean gestured him back. 

“Okay. Thanks, Detective. We appreciate your cooperation,” he said, as he turned to leave.

The bell above them tinkled incongruously as the two left, Dean immediately sinking his face as far as possible into his collar. 

“Dean, we must observe that body,” Cas insisted as they made their way back to the Impala. “That death was not natural. I noticed the same grains of sand as in the museum. Sam was right, there is a supernatural element to this case.”

Dean nodded as he seated himself and started up the vehicle. “You’re definitely right, Cas,” he said, “But it’s 6 in the morning. Let’s get someplace warm before we wake up Sammy. I need to defrost my cajones.”

“But Dean, I sense no frost on your--” Cas cut himself off, his blue eyes warming as they met Dean’s. “You were using an idiom while attempting humor. I apologize.”

Dean huffed. “Way to wreck a joke.”

But a hint of a crinkle remained at the corner of his eyes. He carefully navigated Baby down the street, noticing that pedestrians were already beginning their daily rituals, despite the early hour. About a block from the museum, the light turned, and Dean stopped, watching the town come alive as he waited for the light to change. 

A crossing guard was on the corner to the right, wearing a fluorescent vest and beanie, vigorously blowing on his whistle and waving people over the crosswalk. A woman and her children waited patiently nearby, calmly watching the cars pass. A toddler with a halo of yellow curls dragged on the mother’s woolen skirt, his older, dark-haired brother standing nearby. The mother turned to the toddler and picked him up, pulling her skirt out of his fist and kissing the blonde head. The older brother smiled at this display of affection, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his gray hoodie.

The light changed and Dean revved Baby up, ready to get back to the B&B. This place had a timeless feeling like he had been dumped into some cheesy chick flick. Men wearing suit jackets and carrying briefcases straight out of the 1950s. Kids swaddled deeply into homemade sweaters, women usually trailed by multiple kids. It was strange, but pretty, the way one of those ceramic Christmas villages is pretty.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind, Dean parked Baby in his usual spot at the B&B. Time to get moving on the case.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam spends some time in Peterborough with Byrony. Dean and Cas interview some more OCs about the case.

Sitting in the corner booth with his back to the wall, Sam allowed himself a moment to reflect on his morning so far. After successfully getting his keys from his room, he had driven to the store that Detective Kevin had suggested. As Sam had feared, the phone was completely broken and had to be replaced. He sent a quick call using the store’s phone to Charlie to see if she could get his fake credit card more money. 

As he turned to go, Sam had opened the store door to see a group of teenagers slashing the tires of his newly-stolen Prius. Enraged, he had chased them through the narrow alleys, sneakers splashing in chilly puddles and grinding on the sandy soil, but lost them after a few blocks. Now here he was, feet soaked, sipping some truly terrible coffee in an unfamiliar neighborhood on the wrong side of Peterborough.

A stack of books landed across from him on the table, and Sam jumped, raising startled eyes.

“You look like I feel,” laughed Byrony, sliding in across from him. Today she was wearing a black and purple striped beanie with a skull on it, her hair in pigtails below each ear. 

“Hello, Byrony,” Sam blinked, cautious. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to say hey,” she answered casually, sliding the books toward the corner and out of her way. 

The waitress saw Byrony and came to hover at the table.

“Two cinnamon buns,” Byrony commanded, and when she turned her head, Sam caught a glimpse of a tiny tattoo behind her ear. 

She turned back, grinning. “You allergic to gluten?”

“N-no,” Sam stammered, befuddled.

“Great!” She turned merrily back to the waitress. “Two more from him. And two big mugs of your hot cocoa. I can’t believe you fed him that swill you call coffee!”

The waitress planted two plump fists on her ample hips. 

“Well, Miss By-your-leave, maybe I should make you come back here and fix it your own self!” she sassed, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.

Byrony launched herself out of the booth and hugged the waitress. 

“Auntie Wendy!”, she exclaimed, laughing wryly at Sam’s face. “This is my friend Sam. He’s visiting the area. We met the other day at my parents’ B&B. Sam, this is my bestest friend Wendy, who I also call Auntie.”

Sam offered his hand, gathering up his dignity. “Nice to meet you.”

Wendy took it and shook, amusement wrinkling the cinnamon freckles that covered her cheeks. 

“You are probably wondering why she calls me Auntie. Well, this tiny girl kept trying to run away from her parents back when I was a young lady living in the area. I returned her home so many times, they started using me to babysit. We became such good friends, she called me Auntie.”

“Wow,” Sam said, reminded slightly of Bobby Singer. “It’s good to have people in your life like that.”

“Anyway,” Byrony said, returning to her place in the booth, her blue-jeaned legs crossed Indian-style below the table, “It was nice to see you, Auntie. I gotta finish this.”

She gestured to the books. Wendy waved at them both and walked away, her red curls bouncing as she left.

“What are you working on?” Sam asked, curious.

“It’s a project for fun,” Byrony admitted, a pinkish blush accenting her hazel eyes. “When I’m not at work, I design comic books and publish them online for the kids I work with.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool,” Sam leaned forward. “What do you do for work?”

Her eyes dropped briefly.

“I’m a CNA at the hospital,” she explained, shuffling a bit in her black parka. “I work in Peds Oncology.”

“Holy cow, that must be hard,” Sam commented. “I’m sorry, you must hear that all the time.”

Byrony’s lips curled in a smile. 

“Yeah, kind of,” she admitted. “I love it a lot, but it is getting pretty difficult for me emotionally.”

“I bet,” agreed Sam. “I bet they love your books, though. What kind of comics do you write?”

 

A few minutes later, Wendy came back to find the two in a deep discussion, dark heads bent close. She carefully balanced the steaming mugs of cocoa out of the way and placed the sticky cinnamon buns within easy reach, nudging Byrony’s elbow. The waitress was rewarded with a quick grin as Byrony tapped the young man on the arm, offering him a piece too. He took one and tasted it, smiling blissfully as Byrony nodded, the bright-purple ends of her hair shimmering against her dark coat. 

“Woah, these are good,” Sam smiled.

Byrony gobbled her piece, licking frosting off her fingers.

“Try the cocoa,” she suggested. “Your life will never be the same.”

Sam took a sip. The temperature was perfect, and the thick, fudgy liquid slid into a warm pool in his stomach. 

“Yum,” he smiled.

“Right?” Byrony agreed. “I’m kind of a cocoa snob. There’s nothing so horrible as a bad cup of hot cocoa, but a good cup…. pure bliss.”

Sam slowly nodded, taking another sip and gesturing to the pile of books. “I noticed you’re doing a lot of research.”

Byrony grinned. “Yeah, I love early Byzantine art. I’m trying to use it more in my artwork.”

“Really?” Sam’s interest was piqued. “Me too. I was going to go to the library today and research it.”

Byrony’s eyes warmed to bronze in the light from the window. “It just so happens you’ve found the area’s leading expert in Byzantine art use in comic books,” she teased, grabbing two pieces of the roll and stuffing her cheeks. 

“C’mon, Sam,” she said as she grabbed her books up. “I’ll take you there and show you around the shelves. You can take your cocoa to go.”

Sam hustled to get up, tossing a twenty on the table and grabbing his cocoa. The frigid autumn air hit as soon as they left the building, but Byrony didn’t shy away from the wind. She grinned straight into it, her hair flying in black and purple streamers. Sam ducked into his coat as she led the way to the parking lot.

“Well?” She turned to Sam, gesturing at a midnight-purple Harley Davidson. “How do you like him?”

“Him?”, Sam asked, the cold slowing his thoughts.

“Boytoy!” Byrony exclaimed, punching Sam’s arm gently in rebuke. “Sam, this is Boytoy. Boytoy, this is Sam.”

Sam’s eyes widened as she swung herself onto the leather seat, reaching back to grab a black helmet and toss it at him. “But it’s freezing!”, he pointed out.

Byrony sent him a look that let him know her opinion of that statement. “Don’t be such a baby! It’s still 45 degrees outside.”

Sam realized he was endangering his masculinity and slid on behind, trying to leave enough space between his crotch and hers.

Byrony leaned back, her cocoa-scented breath brushing against his face. “It’s okay to slide forward,” she winked. “You might want to hang on.”

Before he could speak, Byrony had grabbed her helmet from behind him, revved up, and the Harley was rumbling aggressively up the street. 

* * *

“We’ll have to go back tonight,” Dean said, rubbing his neck wearily. 

He hadn’t had much sleep last night, and his normal abilities to charm the authorities had suffered. He’d been denied access to the funeral home and was sitting mournfully with Cas in the Impala.

“It may be better to view the body without an audience anyway,” Cas noted. “That way we can talk openly.”

“True,” Dean allowed. “So we have all day. Wanna interview some witnesses?”

“Not really,” Cas rumbled, earning a rueful chuckle from Dean. “But that’s what we should do next, correct?”

“I mean, until Sam’s phone is repaired, all we can do is our part,” Dean reasoned. “Gimme the address, let’s go talk to the Vic's family.”

Cas obediently found it on the phone, and Dean turned Baby down a side street. Although it was now mid-morning, the day was still overcast and chill. The street was mostly deserted, but they could see townspeople sitting in the lit windows of coffee shops, diners, and stores along the way. After a short drive, they found the house they were looking for in a small neighborhood close by.

The house Cas pointed out was a medium-sized colonial-style house set back a bit from the street. A young boy with a tangled mop of brown hair was swinging on a rope swing next door, his thin frame covered in a gray sweatshirt and jeans.

Dean hooked his thumb in the direction of the boy, asking, “Isn’t everyone in school already?”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. 

“I’m not sure about the school schedule, Dean. Perhaps some schools start at different times than others. Maybe that child is homeschooled.”

“Maybe he’s playin’ hooky,” Dean mused, reminded of Sam at that age.

Shrugging, he made his way to the door and rang the bell.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, middle-aged man with impeccably trimmed blonde hair and haughty blue eyes. “May I help you? ” He asked, his tone polite but frosty.

“Agents Greer and Williams, FBI,” Dean introduced, flipping open his badge. “May we have a moment of your time to ask you a few questions?”

“FBI?” The man repeated, stunned, the door remaining only slightly ajar.

“For goodness’ sake, Isaiah let the men in,” a woman’s voice called out from the interior. “It’s freezing cold outside.”

Isaiah opened the door obediently, ushering them in. Immediately, the men’s coats were taken and hung in a closet near the door, Isaiah requesting they also remove their shoes and place them into neat cupboards specifically made for that purpose. Thankfully, only Cas heard the hushed complaints about indecency Dean made under his breath.

They passed through a short hall and into a kitchen, where a woman with a shoulder-length blonde bob sat at a wooden table. Her large brown eyes studied Dean and Cas intently from behind cat’s eye frames. On the table were a basket of fresh-baked blueberry muffins, two steaming mugs of coffee, and the newspaper, folded neatly to one side.

“Whatever  _ is _ the FBI doing here in our little town?”, the woman asked, peering up over the edge of her glasses. “Do we have a mystery?”

“I’m Agent Greer, and this is Agent Williams,” Dean answered. “We’re here investigating the museum theft.”

“I’m Tory, and this is my husband, Isaiah,” the woman nodded, gesturing at the table. “Would you care for a muffin?”

“We really shouldn’t--”, Cas began.

“Refuse such a kind offer,” Dean interrupted, side-eyeing Cas. 

Who would say no to homemade muffins? Obviously only Heavenly Tax Accountants with no taste buds.

“Please, sit,” Tory commanded. 

Isaiah remained standing, his back to the cherrywood cabinets and his arms crossed. Dean and Cas obediently took seats, Dean on a long wooden bench, Cas at an unoccupied chair at the opposite end of the table from Tory.

“So what kind of interest could the FBI have in our little museum?”, Tory asked, her brown eyes shining with gossip.

“We think the stolen coins may not have been legitimately obtained,” Dean answered smoothly, following the story he and Sam had laid out for Cas. “But the case is still pretty new. We have a lot of investigating to do before we come to any conclusions.”

Isaiah set out dishes and walked to the refrigerator, bringing out a butter dish for the table and coming to sit next to Tory.

“What does that have to do with us?”, He asked, his close-cropped nails tapping rapidly on the table. In his navy blue sweater and khakis, he reminded Dean of one of those bland models from a JC Penney catalog, the ones right under the heading:  _ Clothes for Him _ .

“Well, we were investigating in the area, and a complication has arisen in the case,” Cas answered, filling in while Dean buttered his muffin. “Do either of you know an Alex Caulder? He was registered at this address.”

“Fraj?”, Tory leaned forward, her hands suddenly tightening on her mug. “He’s my brother. Is he in trouble?”

“Not anymore,” Cas said bluntly. 

Dean coughed, almost swallowing the piece of muffin in his mouth whole.

“What my partner means,” Dean finally said when his coughing fit had calmed down, “Is that we came to speak to you about your brother. We are very sorry, but he was found dead inside his store early this morning.”

“What?” Tory’s brow wrinkled, brown eyes filling with tears. 

Woodenly, Isaiah reached for her, placing her head on his shoulder as she began to sob. 

“What happened?”, Isaiah asked, still obviously in shock.

“We aren’t entirely sure,” Dean answered, cursing himself for not being more gentle. “The investigation has just begun.”

“Poor Fraj,” Tory sniffed from her place on her husband’s shoulder. 

He patted her briefly.

“May I ask why you referred to your brother as ‘Fraj’?” Cas asked, unfazed by the display of emotion.

“Short for Fragile,” Tory said, sitting up and wiping her eyes on a cotton napkin. “He was an awkward kid. He broke several bones, including snapping his collarbone three times in one year.”

“Ouch,” Dean winced sympathetically.

“Did your brother have any enemies, any conflict of any kind?”, Cas inquired, forging ahead with the interview.

“I doubt it,” Tory answered, her eyebrows forming a worried pucker. “He was a pretty sweet guy. Everybody liked him, it was kind of impossible not to.”

“He wasn’t all that successful,” Isaiah mentioned awkwardly, earning a glare from his wife. “He had that store, but that was about it. That’s why he was living with us for a while.”

“All right,” Dean said, noting that down for later. “Did he seem upset lately? Anxious, worried about anything?”

“Not really,” Tory answered, twisting the cotton napkin in her hands. “Actually, he was really excited. His store had just gotten a shipment of some comic book that was really popular. He was thinking it would turn the place around.”

“Was Alex interested in strange things? The occult?”, Cas’ head tilted as he asked the question.

“Well, an adult liking comic books is weird,” Isaiah answered stiffly, receiving another scalding look from Tory.

“But we would never, never allow the occult in our house,” Tory said firmly.

“I know that now is a difficult time for you,” Dean said, trying his best Sappy Sammy voice. “Is it possible to view his room, see if we can find anything that may link this to the case?”

Isaiah sighed, bristling, but Tory nodded emphatically. 

“Of course,” she said. “He lived over the garage, it has its own entrance. I’ll show you the way.”

Cas and Dean followed Tory back out the front door and around the two-car garage that was attached to the house. There was a small door in the back that led up narrow wooden steps.

“This is it,” Tory said, pausing at the door. “We give him his own space. We share the garage for laundry, but he has his own key for this door. I kept a copy just in case he lost it, he’s pretty forgetful.”

She bent, felt under the rug, and handed the key to Dean.

“Please don’t take anything,” she said softly, looking vulnerable. “I’m not ready yet, but I would like to save something of his. To remember him by.”

“Of course,” Dean answered softly, feeling a sympathetic pain for the woman.

Sure, she was pretty buttoned-up, but he could still see she loved her brother. With a nod, Tory left them on the landing.

Dean waited until he heard the entrance click closed downstairs before unlocking and opening the door, gun first. The place was lit by four dormer windows in the eaves, which had curtains that had probably been placed there by Tory before Alex moved in. 

There was a tiny kitchenette on the left, which shared a wall with the main house. A mini fridge was under the counter, and a microwave perched on the corner. Cas peered into the cabinets, finding a few boxes of cereal. The mini fridge held a few half-frosted boxes of pizza bagels. In the center of the room, a bean bag was thrown facing an old TV balanced on another mini fridge (this one held a case of beer) and gaming system, the controllers strewn carelessly. Under one window was a table and a planter growing a few sprigs of weed. Dean chuckled to himself as he pointed this out to Cas. 

On the right-hand side of the main room, there was an ancient couch resting against the wall with old cable spools for side tables on each side. Each side table had books stuffed around the bottom, but the tops seemed reserved for piles of empty baskets. There was a mustard-colored knitted afghan laying on the couch, possibly for warmth during cooler weather. 

After finding nothing suspicious in this room, Dean and Cas moved to check the two doors to the right. The first was a tiny bathroom, the pedestal sink surrounded by those same stacks of baskets. Some held toiletries, others were empty. 

The second door led to the bedroom, which was dominated by a mattress on a box spring in the center. There were two dormer windows here on either side of the mattress, allowing some sunlight to filter down to the bedspread, which was a dark burgundy paisley design. Here, all vertical available wall space was covered with shelves, which were stuffed with comic books, video games, and some instructional books. Where the eaves of the roof arched up over the bed, the walls were papered with comic book art, mainly featuring half-clad anime ladies. 

A trunk at the end of the bed seemed full of knitted blankets, but Dean found a porn mag stash underneath the pile and hid it in his jacket. No sister should find that while cleaning out her deceased brother’s room.

Cas glanced around. “I see nothing significant here, Dean,” He said.

“Me neither,” Dean said. “Even that pot is barely enough for recreational use. This dude had nothing going on.”

“I’m sure his life was interesting,” Cas argued mildly, finding a sketchbook on one of the shelves and paging through. “Just not involved in supernatural elements, at least not here.”

“Yeah, nothing here points to it,” agreed Dean.

“Perhaps this could help us, however,” Cas rumbled, presenting the sketchbook to Dean. Dean glanced down. Over and over, page after page of the same girl. Different poses, head tilted one way or the other, sometimes not seeming aware of the artist.

“Huh,” Dean took the book from Cas. “Looks like a real person. Maybe Tory knows who it is.”

Cas flipped to the back of the book, pointing to a name and address scrawled at the very bottom of the last page. “Perhaps we don’t have to ask,” he said quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam spends time doing research. Dean and Cas go out for lunch and have a conversation with one of the locals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your kudos and comments are making me so happy! It's cool to get them in my email every day. More to come! :)

Sam glanced up from the pile of books he had been perusing for the last two hours and yawned, stretching his long legs under the library table. Byrony looked over impishly from her sketchbook, her booted feet perched cross-legged beneath her.

“Ready for a brain break?” She inquired.

“Definitely,” Sam answered, catching a glance at his watch. “Holy cow! It’s one already! My phone should be done.” 

He stood, catching his left foot on a stack of books and landing gracelessly on his elbows.

“Dude!” Byrony exclaimed, rushing over. “You are like the clumsiest ever. Watch out for those giant feet. You okay?”

Sam grimaced, sliding down his sleeve to reveal reddened skin. 

“Just a little rug rash. I’ll be fine.”

His unharmed forearm was grasped in Byrony’s opposite hand, her feet planted next to his. Before he even had a moment to consider what was going on, he found himself suddenly back on his feet.

“Holy cow!” Sam was impressed. “How the hell did you do that? I’m like twice your size.”

“CNA superpowers,” Byrony grinned. “Come on!”

Sam bent down and picked up the offending book,  _ Of Sand or Soil: Genealogy and Tribal Belonging in Saudi Arabia _ , placing it atop his tottering pile. 

Byrony took a few books to return to the librarian’s desk, making Sam’s pile somewhat more manageable. The librarian talked Sam into buying a bag so he could carry them home.

“Well,” Sam said as the library doors swung closed behind them. “Back to the shop to pick up my phone.”

“Okay,” Byrony waved, smiling. “It’s actually only a few blocks that way. Have a cool day, Sam. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam answered, surprised by how deeply he meant it.

The address that Cas had found led them to the other side of town, so Dean decided they should stop in for a late lunch and interview whoever was at the B&B first. As they entered the dining room area, Dean and Cas spotted a row of wooden hangers mounted on the wood-panelled walls meant for their coats. Grumbling, Dean transferred his cell phone, pocket change, and swiss army knife from their original places to his suit pants.

“This feels so weird,” Dean hissed as they followed the waiter to a table. “These pockets are not big enough for all this crap. Do I look bulgy to you?”

“I don’t think now is a proper time to discuss your pants bulges, Dean,” Cas replied flatly, causing a blush to rush onto the waiter’s face. 

Stammering something, the young man scooted away.

“Great,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Now we can’t interview that guy.”

Cas slid into his seat, picking up the menu. 

“Perhaps we will find an opportunity later,” he considered.

Just as Dean was about to reply, a burly man came walking in from the kitchen, a white apron stretched across his prominent belly. He was cleaning his hands with a dish towel, but his white tee shirt was pristine. He had a flushed but friendly face, which split into a grin as his dark eyes fell on Dean and Cas.

“Gentlemen!” he greeted them, slipping the dishcloth into his back pocket and grabbing their hands to shake emphatically, “Welcome to my kitchen! I’m honored you’ve decided to come try my food.”

Dean returned the smile, assessing the man. Despite thick jowls and a belly, the man was heavily muscled. He stood energetically, and his smile was genuine and cheerful.

“Is this your restaurant?” Dean asked.

“It is,” the man beamed. “Lawrence Statton. My wife and I own this place. I run the kitchen.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “I guess our fate is in your hands, then.”

Statton chuckled appreciatively. “So, why are you gentlemen visiting? Usually, we don’t get many people here after the summer season.”

“We’re here investigating a case,” Cas interjected. “The museum theft?”

“Oh yeah, I have heard of that,” Statton nodded. “It’s been in the paper for a while. How is that going?”

“Not very well,” Dean said, then decided to take a gamble. “And now we have a new mystery to solve.”

“Really?” Statton leaned closer, his voice interested.

Dean hid a smile. The guy was hooked. 

“A citizen of this town was found dead this morning,” Cas informed Statton, his voice monotone. 

Dean sent Cas a warning look. Hadn’t they just discussed being more diplomatic in the car?

“Oh no!” Statton rocked back, too stunned to notice the battle of looks going on between Dean and Cas. “Who was it?”

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Dean evaded, hoping to gloss it over. “But we have a lead. Do you know a man named Alex Caulder?”

“Oh, you mean Fraj,” Statton nodded. “Lived here his whole life, poor sucker. Kinda down on his luck.”

“You mean, financially?” Cas specified.

“I mean everything, but mostly financially,” Statton explained. “He had this grand idea for that store, but not many people here are into comics. Sure, the kids like ‘em, but they grow up eventually.”

“Sounds like he was running out of clients,” Dean made another mental note.

“Maybe he was, but he would’ve been fine anyway,” Statton waved the thought off. “Tory’s his older sister, and she’s married into money. Plus they inherited money when their parents passed.”

“Huh,” Dean was puzzled. 

“Is there anything else you can tell us about Alex?” Cas inquired.

“Well, the only other thing I knew about him is that he was kinda sweet on a girl,” Statton replied after a moment.

“Which girl?” Dean asked, interested.

“Sara Nickle,” Statton answered. “Her family lives on the other side of town.”

“Is this her?” Dean asked, showing Statton a picture of the sketch that he had taken on his phone. 

Statton leaned back, fished out some wire spectacles from beneath his apron, and peered through them. 

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Pretty thing. Flighty, though.” 

With that, he stood, dusting himself off.

“Well, I’ve kept you from your meal long enough,” Statton grinned. “You look like a meat and potatoes man to me. What can I make you, blue eyes?”

Cas blinked. “Whatever you make for Dean should suffice,” he answered slowly.

“Alrighty,” Statton smiled and turned, waving over his shoulder as he went back to the kitchen. 

“That was not particularly enlightening,” Cas complained.

“Yeah, this case is going nowhere fast,” Dean agreed. 

The young waiter came by to place glasses of water in front of the pair. As the waiter walked back to the kitchen, a group of people caught Dean’s eye. This appeared to be a family, with a middle-aged mom wearing a woolen sweater and long skirt, Dad in slacks and dress shirt, a little girl and a boy following behind. The boy was about ten years old, head ducked shyly away, bony shoulders enveloped by a large gray hoodie. Dean’s lips pursed. Was that the same kid from before? He was about to ask Cas when his phone rang.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean answered. “Got your phone fixed, I see.”

There was a pause as Dean listened. 

“Dude, that’s friggin hilarious!” Dean laughed, responding to something Sam had said. “I can’t believe you locked yourself out of your room.”

A short silence ensued as Sam continued to speak. 

“Someone slashed your tires? Who?” Dean growled dangerously but then relaxed. “Well, it was just a Prius,” he concluded. “No need to get bent out of shape.” 

“So something interesting happened last night,” Dean continued, and Cas stiffened.

Would he mention their kiss? Surely not. Cas assumed part of the reason Dean had called a stop to the interaction was his fear of Sam’s reaction.

“One of the people in this town was murdered,” Dean continued, unaware of Cas’ inner battle. “The locals are trying to pass it off as an accident, but the scene was pretty hinky. Cas says it looks supernatural.”

A pause, then Dean spoke again. 

“A local comic book store owner, Alex Caulder. we interviewed the family but they didn’t know much. You come up with anything on your end?”

The answer was obviously negative because the corners of Dean’s lips turned down. 

“Sorry man, but you know how research is. We got one more lead to run down, then we’re looking at the body.”

Another pause as Sam asked another question. 

“Nah, dude. You stay there and hit the books. I’ll call you if anything weird comes up. This looks like it’s gonna be a long one. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Cas said he saw sand in the bottom of the box at the museum, I didn’t think anything of it, but he said there was more with the body today. I dunno if that helps any or not. Yup, okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

Dean returned his phone to his pocket just as the waiter arrived at the table with two steaming plates. 

“Here is your food,” the young man said. “We have a no cell phone policy. Please try to remember that in the future.”

Dean rolled his eyes but decided not to comment. There was a big fat steak on his plate and he was going to take some time to enjoy it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes out to eat. Dean and Cas follow some leads and have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut because you have been so patient! :) Thanks for the comments as always.

Sam sighed heavily as he placed his new phone onto the table. It looked like he would be spending another night at the shitty motel. He hoped fervently at least one of the obnoxious groups of people in the adjoining rooms had left so he could get better sleep.

He had written down a few ideas for possible monsters, but the pickings were pretty slim. Looking through the list again, he felt discouraged. The only headway they had made seemed to be back with Dean and Cas, but if Dean wanted him to stay and research, he would. He had to admit that having his own wifi connection and room without his bossy older brother was kind of relaxing. Or it would be if those two would quit screaming it out next door.

Sam grabbed his coat, deciding some fresh air would do him good, and he could pick up dinner while he was out.  He meticulously checked his pockets for his room key before leaving, not wanting to incur the wrath of Karen. One experience with the sarcastic, doughy housekeeper was enough for him.

After leaving the library, Sam had found a mainly-abandoned looking VW Bug and gotten it to start after some tinkering. The thing was ancient and rusty as shit. Dean would have turned his nose up at it, but Sam thought it was less likely to get its tires slashed, and besides, he didn’t want to take the risk of getting caught with a stolen car in a town as small as Peterborough.

Sam shivered in the cold wind as he cranked on the Bug, praying for it to start. After a few arduous minutes, it coughed wearily into gear, and he drove it down the street.

The sun had already dipped low, and most people were heading home. The downtown area of Peterborough was quaint, many of the original buildings still in use. It looked sweetly beautiful, one of those places with a town center and friendly but nosy neighbors that Sam had often wished for as a teenager. There was a pizza place nearby, but Sam craved something different, finally finding a tiny hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place. He parked the Bug across the street.

Sam ducked under the jingling beads across the door as he went in. A few customers turned at his entry, clocked him as a tourist, and turned away. A tiny Asian man wearing a faded suit greeted him.

“Welcome to Bo Biên,” he intoned. “Just you?”

“Yes,” Sam answered.

Thankfully, that was the end of the questions, and the man led the way to an open table. Sam sat down, looking at his surroundings. The place wasn’t high-class, but the tablecloths were clean and the lighting was pleasant.

A teenaged girl came to his table and handed him a menu, which was printed on paper. Sam smiled at her, but she kept her eyes averted.

“My name is Sandy, and I will take your order,” she recited.

Sam got the feeling that was most of her English vocabulary, so he ordered something from the menu he knew how to pronounce.

“Water? Coke?” she asked.

“Water,” Sam answered, handing her the menu back.

Sandy. Strange name for a Vietnamese girl. Maybe her parents were fans of the musical classic, Grease. Sam mused about different times he had seen parts of it on tv during his youth, mostly snuck while Dean was away. If Dean ever caught him watching it, Sam was sure he’d get a lecture for liking a “girly” musical.

Sam rolled his eyes. His brother was such a pain in the ass sometimes. He watched the single, lazy koi making its rounds in the nearby fish tank as he considered his snarky, bombastic older brother. Despite being shorter than Sam, Dean had a drill sergeant side that he employed when he wanted to keep Sam in line. Sam tried to take all of his antics with a cheerful attitude, and sometimes he was more successful than others. He wondered how Dean was doing with so much alone time with Cas. He knew the two had conflict in their relationship and hoped they weren’t fighting.

Sandy brought Sam his plate. He smiled gratefully and dug in. No Dean to snark about the giant pile of steamed vegetables and rice. He took his time to really enjoy being able to eat in peace without his big brother sitting around calling him names.

Sam was about halfway finished when he began to feel it. A queasy heat was sneakily radiating from his gut, causing tiny beads of sweat to pop out on his forehead. He flagged Sandy down for the check, hoping he wasn’t getting sick.

The moments it took him to get the shitbucket VW started were torturously long as the unpleasant warmth in his stomach spread. By the time he was rolling down the road, Sam’s stomach was rolling too, feeling like a pair of slick octopi duking it out in a prize fight match.

He parked hastily and slammed into the room, barely making it in time to reach the toilet. As he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl, Sam found himself cursing his choice of restaurant. At least Dean wasn’t here to laugh and make it worse.

After a few minutes, the heaving was over. Sam rested his head on the cool tiles of the floor, exhaustion trembling in his limbs. What a fucking day. When he was strong enough, he rose to his feet, brushed his teeth in the sink, and fell into the bed, finally able to sleep despite the shrieking neighbors.

* * *

 

“Well, that was a bust,” griped Dean as he and Cas exited the Nickles’ home. “Friends from high school, haven’t talked since. This town is just full of people who don’t know anything.”

Making his way down the driveway, something caught Dean’s eye. He turned just in time to see a small, brown-haired boy ducking under a fence behind them. _Must be school vacation_ , he mused.

Cas paused at the door to the Impala, fixing Dean with one of his patented stares.

“Just because they don’t seem relevant to the case does not mean they are not relevant people, Dean.”

Dean’s green eyes rolled as he seated himself behind the wheel. “You know what I meant Cas. Come on.”

“I share your frustration, however,” Cas added. “We’re really no closer than we were this morning to figuring this out.”

Dean’s hand smacked the wheel. “That’s the other thing! You have to quit talking like that to people!”

Cas didn’t back down at the note of annoyance in Dean’s voice.

“Talking like what?” he inquired.

“Like a freaking robot!” Dean exhaled noisily. “How can you not notice how people react when you use big words like that?”

Cas began to protest, but Dean cut him off.

“I know, your ‘people skills’ or whatever aren’t exactly the best!” Dean shouted.

Cas' eyes narrowed as Dean revved Baby up the hill and swung precariously into the parking space by the B&B.

“I understand your reference to our earlier discussion, Dean,” he said, following as Dean slammed the door and headed inside. “I am unsure of how this is causing you so much anger. We’ve already spoken about it.”

Dean rounded on him, swinging open the door that led to the stairwell.

“That is the point!” he snapped. “I tell you something, and you don’t listen!”

Cas watched Dean thunder up the stairs, shook his head and followed after.

“I _was_ listening, Dean.”

“Really?!?” Dean whirled, green eyes blazing and tone sarcastic. “How are you listening but still using that robot voice with every fucking person we meet?”

Cas sucked in air but followed Dean doggedly into the room.

“I was hoping you would be more patient with me, Dean,” he pointed out. “I have barely had time to adjust and you are already vocally attacking me on this.”

“Attacking---? Attacking you?” Dean sputtered, wrestling out of his tie and throwing it toward a corner.

“You’d know if I was attacking you, Cas.”

“I’m aware of that,” Cas answered evenly. “I think your anger isn’t about this topic, Dean. I think your anger is actually pointed toward yourself.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dean demanded, red-faced with his arms crossed. “What kind of psychobabble nonsense is that?”

“I think,” Cas persevered, “that your criticisms of me are actually criticisms of yourself.”

Dean hissed, freckles standing out livid on his face.

“What the fuck kind of criticism would that be, Cas?”

“You don’t want to accept me as I am because you don’t want to accept yourself as you are,” Cas stated firmly.

Dean stepped closer slowly, electricity suddenly filling the air with tension.

“The hell I don’t accept myself,” he intoned, punching out each word, his eyes locked with Cas’.

“You’re too afraid to accept how you feel,” Cas challenged, eyes flashing ice right back.

Dean whirled away, showing Cas his back.

“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about,” Dean said, voice dull.

Cas closed the distance between them, coming to stand just behind him.

“Dean,” he whispered; his breath a faint tickle along Dean’s spine.

Dean’s mind was full of screaming voices. John Winchester’s angry bellow. His own fear of this. Whatever this was, this constant draw to touch Cas. He could shove it in the back of his mind, close it off, lock it down in the iron chains of denial, but it always came back. It was subtle, sneaky, resilient. The tiny, persuasive part that said, _turn around._

He screwed his eyes shut tightly, swallowing dry. The jagged bits of his nails were biting into his palms, the pain distant. Cas was there, behind him, present and solid and real. The heat from his body was palpable against Dean’s shoulders, radiating into his chest. It felt like a comforting hand was pressing him. Just from the fact that the man was there. Breathing.

This was insane. He was acting like a teenaged idiot. Even when he _was_ a teenager, Dean had never hovered like this. Never been indecisive. Never considered what would happen after. Never been scared.

John Winchester’s acid voice was echoing in his skull, calling him a worthless fairy. Dean fiercely held himself tighter, his muscles locking, his teeth grinding together like stones.

There was a rustle somewhere behind him. A sigh.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, almost pleading.

He felt the fingers brush his shoulder tenderly. Waking a ripple of shudders down Dean’s arm. Everything felt awake, sensitive, charged and full of electricity. A faint thrum, his own heart reaching a breakneck pace.

He remembered it all vividly. Each aching, intense detail. The feel of Cas, the sound of Cas. Every fucking minute since he first appeared in that haze of sparks. The low voice that held his soul captive, swayed him, was his anchor.

He had already done it once, he told himself. He had experimented. Oh, he had. And he had enjoyed it. The sweet, dizzying kisses. The feel of their chests pressed tight. Hearts thudding against each other. He could have it again. It wasn’t weird to want something that felt so good.

Barely aware there was a decision being made, he turned. His face was in Cas’ palms before he had completed the movement. His lips were already captured, his tongue fighting, licking, claiming the angel’s mouth. Cas had pulled him in, their chests tight, his heat emanating like a forge. The firm, strong hands were gliding, finding purchase on the hem of Dean’s shirt, and he wanted that damn piece of clothing gone.

He moaned low into Cas’ mouth, working his own fingers feverishly, almost tearing the fabric with haste. Cas was writhing against him, peeling layers off. Finally, skin against skin. God, it was amazing. Better than dreams.

The hard, tight, hot feel of Cas, pure Cas beneath his fingers. Dean bent his head as Cas grabbed his hair in a fist, guiding his head. Dean trailed hands, lips and finally tongue in a line downward, landing on a nipple. It was pert and hard, skin pebbled around it. Dean sucked it in, licking on it. A moan rumbled out of Cas, making Dean grin.

The angel grasped him tighter, shoving Dean’s face roughly against the skin, and Dean closed his eyes and nipped. He was rewarded with another moan, this one thrumming from deep in Cas’ chest, vibrating the air around them.  He decided to alternate licking and sucking, causing Cas to writhe harder and whine.

Dean’s head was guided further down, so he licked a wide swath, gobbling down inches of tan, sweet skin. Suddenly, his nose hit the buckle of Cas’ belt and his knees slammed into the floor.

An alien vibration began in Dean’s pocket. He groaned, ignoring it. The reggae beat of “Bad Boys” by Inner Circle began to play.

Growling, Dean forced himself up, turned away.

“Yes!” He demanded.

“This is Detective Kevin,” the ingratiating voice answered.

Dean would have recognized that douchebag without the introduction but refrained from mentioning it.

“What do you need?” Dean struggled to keep his tone polite, tamping down annoyance.

“I have heard from a few of our citizens that you are interviewing them about Alex Caulder,” the man went on, unphased.

Dean gritted his teeth.

“I am just calling to remind you that you are here to aid _me_ , and not vice versa,” the Detective continued.

Dean bit his tongue to keep from replying.

“Since this town is adequately served by its existing police force, I would like to ask you to allow _me_ to interrogate all possible suspects,” he smarmed. “Since it is, in fact, my job.”  

Detective Kevin paused here to let that sink in.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Well, we were just trying to aid the local investigation,” Dean answered back, allowing some responding snark to leak into his voice. “But if you don’t need us, we can be on our way. You were, after all, doing so _well_ solving the theft of those coins by yourselves.”

There was a beat of silence, during which Dean smirked on his verbal victory.

“I am unaware there is a connection between the two,” the detective retorted stiffly. “If there is, I would hope the FBI would not leave the local law enforcement in the dark.”

Damn. Dean had overplayed his hand. Time to play nice.

“Well, Detective, I appreciate you calling me to express your concerns. Of course, we will share whatever links we have found with local law enforcement.”

“Thank you,” Kevin answered back haughtily.

“I’ll call you as soon as something develops,” Dean concluded, and hung up.

* * *

 

As soon as Dean stood up to answer his phone, Cas left. He didn’t go far, so Dean could find him, but he needed some space to himself. He settled back on the single bed that had been assigned him, appreciating his new ability to find relaxation in a sitting down.

After a moment, he decided to try Dean’s method, and lay flat on his back, ankles crossed, staring upward at the ceiling. This didn’t seem to affect the productivity of his cognition, but the tightly-wound muscles in his back and neck could relax into the support of the pillow.

He squinted at the ceiling. Perhaps humans did this in a misguided attempt to commune with God. He knew that many European and Western civilizations were of the opinion that God existed vertically above them. From his millennia of observation, he had often seen lifted faces, clutched hands presented to the sky. Perhaps an unchanging, white medium like the ceiling left more room for the mind to expand its thinking process and come to conclusions. Whatever it was, he thought it was working.

He had come to the conclusion that it would be impossible to resist his vessel and its apparent desire for Dean. Of course, he was an angel and his possession of this vessel was complete, so he technically had control over its every response. But something was happening here, something wild and unchecked, and he wanted it.

It wasn’t just desire for physical touch, although there was that. That need was constant, dizzying. It was also a craving for Dean himself. The man. The hunter. Not just any man, not any hunter. Dean. He needed Dean.

He could still feel Dean’s lips on his, still feel the subtle way his body molded to Cas’ every touch. His hands and body were burned into Cas’ skin. What he had just experienced was like a jolt of electricity, a blast of icy air, and he needed more.

Curious, Cas slid his hands down his body, feeling his own skin sliding beneath his palms. Was this what Dean felt? Where is the border between touch and being touched?

Cas knew the scientific theory, but the sensation of his own hands silenced this part. Obedient, he slid his hands up and down again. His chest hummed receptively. Interesting.

With a thought, Cas’ shoes were off his feet and materialized next to the bed. The lock on his door clicked shut. He didn’t know as much as he wished to about human beings, but Dean and Sam had taught him enough to know this was private.

The thrill was already running up his arms and chest in waves, nipples hard. He remembered Dean’s mouth on one, sucking, biting. He hissed again in remembered pleasure, reaching up to roll the same nipple between his fingers. A pleasant warmth emanated from his touch. Not enough.

Experimentally, Cas pinched the nipple slowly between his thumb and forefinger, gently and then more firmly. Oh! That was almost like what he had felt before. Like Dean’s lips, his teeth. Cas rolled the nipple, then pinched it pulling it with a slight tug from his chest. Yes! That was it!

Hot pleasure radiated in his chest, pooled in his groin. The stiffness he had noticed before had returned, manifesting beneath the fabric of his pants. Dean had knelt before him.

Oh, that view. It had driven him wild, almost beyond coherent thought. The fierce, strong warrior, on his knees. The eager, shining glimmer of jade eyes cast upward. It was almost a prayer, and Cas longed to answer it. He had longed....

For what? He asked himself, drawing his belt through the loops absently. What exactly would have come next? How would Dean respond? How would he sound?

His cock lifted as he released it from his boxers. This was human pleasure, he told himself giddily, faintly. The head was pink, slick, filled with sensation to the slightest touch. Even the air shifting around him made him shiver with desire.

Carefully, he slid tenuous fingers over the head, feeling the sticky wetness collect on his fingers. The flesh was firm, supple. His body responded, sending a wild thrill upwards. His heart was pounding hard. Keeping the wetness, he moved the pads of his fingers down, encircling the shaft. It was thick, hard, muscular. The sensation of his hands on his skin was causing a buzz to build up deep in his groin, and Cas found himself biting his lip.

He knew what he wanted. It was suddenly as clear as the image painted behind his eyelids as he began to stroke himself more and more rapidly. Unknowingly, he let a jagged breath and a moan escape as he picked up speed. He wanted Dean, on his knees. He wanted to feel the man’s breath on his skin. And more than anything, he wanted to feel the give, the wetness, as Dean took him into his mouth.

* * *

 

Dean whirled back, ready for Cas. He was gone. Well, damn.

Carefully, he approached the door to Cas’ room. Had he finally done it? Had he broken the relationship? Had he destroyed their friendship?

Something made him pause before knocking. His finely-honed senses must have picked up some tiny sound. He pressed his ear to the wood.

A deep sigh. A gasp. Cas was panting, moaning. Cas was… masturbating? Oh. Damn.

He slid down the wood surface, landing silently in a seating position. With his head resting against the door, he could still hear Cas’ breath catch and release in deep moans and soft huffs. The sweet sound brought Dean’s cock rapidly to attention in his pants, straining almost painfully against the fabric.

Just a few minutes ago, Dean had been the one causing those noises. He could still taste Cas’ skin on his lips, feel the warmth of him in his arms. The scent of rain, pure and wild that seemed to come from the crook of his neck, the nape. The frisson of pleasure that ran from Dean’s fingers when he brushed them lightly across that skin.

Almost subconsciously, Dean’s hand had wandered down to press lightly on his cock, provide just a tiny bit of friction to relieve the tension. The dizzying ache of need was beginning to build in the pit of his groin.

Dean bit his lip at the sounds beyond that door. What was Cas doing in there? Sudden images flashed behind his eyelids. Cas, laying spread out on that bed, his cock in his hands, flushed and moaning. Those high cheekbones flushed with lust, the lips bitten and lush. The black hair, silky-soft and spread like a dark halo, surrounding his face. The brilliant blue eyes wide and glowing with desire.

His fingers scrabbled as he struggled to unzip both swiftly and silently. Dean’s breath was coming too fast, he knew he was probably moaning too, but he didn’t care. The image of Cas was too much, he was about to burst. The thought of the angel, sprawled and ready, cock in fist, muscles rippling with every movement, drove Dean to desperation. With a quick movement, his cock was in his hand, straining and tight. The skin was oversensitive, hot. He wanted it to last, wanted to drag every moment of pleasure out, but his mind was racing too fast.

 _What if the phone hadn’t rung?_ Dean asked himself, panting. The need for Cas, to touch him, to be touched, had brought him to his knees, and he wanted more. Dean’s mouth watered as he slid his fingers up and down rapidly. His mind was reeling with a longing, deep and almost shameful, to taste Cas, hold him in his mouth. The pleasure-pain was escalating now, driving an endless, rapid beat that thrummed in every pore of Dean’s skin.

Whining mindlessly, he picked up speed, his muscles burning from the strained position. Cas’ voice was echoing his with deep vibrations beyond the door. Oh, Cas. Oh, how good it would feel, to open his mouth, to feel the stretch of his lips. Feverishly, Dean jerked himself, bending himself almost in half. Cas was moaning, and Dean could hear his weight shifting, the mattress complained as the man began to thrust into his own hand.

 _Oh, God,_ Dean thought wildly as his heart began to stutter, _This was all from what we did earlier._ A faint whisper in his mind suggested to Dean that he was wrong, that there was no possible way an angel could want to be with him. But the evidence of kisses still burned on his lips. The memory of strong fingers remained on his skin, and beyond that door, his angel was gasping, about to cum.

The white-hot pleasure came, wiping out every last dreg of thought in Dean’s mind as Cas called out. That gravel voice, his constant companion for years. The demanding, irritating, beguiling, sexy angel. Finally, Cas was sharing his desire. Finally, Cas wanted. In the blindness of desire, Cas was calling. For Dean.

With this thought, the release came, and Dean was robbed of breath as it ripped through him, rocking him to his core. His muscles spasmed, relaxed. Exhausted, he fell heavy against the door, catching his breath.

There was a pause. Heavy silence.

“Dean?” Cas asked, breathless.

Cas had heard. Oh. Damn.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has dinner with Byrony and learns some interesting things about the town. Dean and Cas view the body. Cas looks back on the activities of the evening.

Chapter Twelve

 

Sam drifted awake, his stomach beginning to rumble now that things had settled. He dressed cautiously, taking care with his tired limbs and over-sensitive skin. Thankfully the nausea stayed away, so he pulled on his jacket, took his keys and wallet, and headed back to the diner from this morning.  

Byrony’s “hot cocoa from heaven” sounded pretty good right now. He grinned to himself, checking his phone. No new messages from Dean and Cas, so they were probably still getting ready to break into the funeral home. There was, however, another text waiting from about twenty minutes ago. Byrony, asking him out for dinner. Overcoming his fear of looking like a loser, he texted her back.

Still hungry? Sorry so late.

B: No probs. Yeah, I was about to head over. Pick you up?

On the death machine? Sure.

B: Glad to see you’re gaining respect for my ride.

The same way I respect a grizzly bear ;-)

B: Lol quit worrying and get ready. See you in 5.

 

Sam smiled to himself. That hot cocoa was sounding better and better. He checked himself in the mirror, smoothing his long brown hair behind his ears for the fiftieth time that day. 

He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested in Byrony. She had a good mix of ferocity, intelligence, and inappropriate humor that pulled him in and made everything more fun. He was glad they had spent most of the day together in the library and wondered if she’d be able to spend more time together in the future. 

This case would be over soon, and he probably shouldn’t let things go too far, or feelings could get seriously hurt. 

There was a knock on his motel door. Always a hunter first, Sam checked the peephole first, catching a glimpse of Byrony’s cheeky grin. He swung the door open as she walked in, kicking her shoes off like she owned the place.

“I knew this place was grimy, but man, it is so much grosser inside,” she laughed, glancing around. 

Since this afternoon, she had changed and was wearing black scrubs under her jacket, her dark hair up in a ponytail with the purple ends landing in the middle of her back.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably, moving to pile up his research. “Sadly, I don’t have much of a budget,” he answered back.

“I guess you wouldn’t after your phone got broken,” she mused, studying the walls. “I am pretty sure you have black mold. You may want to get tested for upper respiratory problems.”

“It’s not like I’m living here long term,” Sam protested.

“Kidding,” she turned, hazel eyes shining.

Sam could see a little more tattoo on her chest peeking out above the neck of her scrubs. 

“I meant to ask you about your tattoo,” he said, praying he wasn’t being rude.

“You mean you weren’t just ogling my boobs? I’m a little insulted, Sam, I have to admit,” she scolded playfully, dimples appearing close to her lips. “It’s a bouquet of flowers, actually.”

“They are beautiful,” Sam found himself blushing. “The flowers, I mean… er….” He gave up. There was no digging out of this awkwardness.

Thankfully Byrony took pity on him, her laugh blotting out the silence. 

“I put them on my chest because that’s one of my favorite parts of my body. Feel free to admire it.” She tossed him a helmet, zipping up her jacket. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” Sam answered, relieved.

The ride was frigid, even with the helmet and his jacket. By the time they got to the diner, Sam’s thighs felt frozen solid and his knees were stiff. Byrony slid off the Harley gracefully and lent him a hand.

“I feel so old,” Sam grumbled but smiled, removing his helmet.

“You and me both,” Byrony commiserated. 

The diner was warm and about halfway full of chatting families. Byrony chose the same seat they had before, gesturing to Sam.

“Sorry I can’t stay long,” she said. “I have to work in a couple of hours, but I wanted to say hi before I head out.”

“Were you up all day?” Sam asked, curious.

“Nah, I took a nap for a bit after I ran into you,” Byrony waved off his concern. “Some of my friends can go quite a while without sleep, but I am not like that at all. I need every minute.”

Sam nodded. “I imagine it makes you better at your job if you get enough rest.”

Their waitress this time was not an old friend of Byrony’s, so they ordered quickly, eager to return to their conversation.

“How are the books?” Byrony asked.

“Some are really interesting, but I am having trouble nailing down what I am looking for exactly,” Sam answered truthfully.

“Hmm. Do you have a point of reference?” 

“Well,” Sam considered, then dove in. He could be general enough to not reveal too much about the case. “The other day, when I was at your parents’ B&B, I noticed that gorgeous manuscript they have in the museum nearby.”

“Oh yeah!” Byrony smiled, excited. “That has been there awhile. I was fascinated by it when I was a kid. It sort of inspired my artwork.”

“Really?” Sam leaned forward. “It looked familiar, but the description on the wall didn’t really give much background info.”

Byrony grimaced. “You’d think a town with a museum would be a little bit better about presenting stuff, but I guess that’s what happens in a small place. Most of us grew up with stories about it, so maybe the owner just forgot to write up the description.”

“So it’s common knowledge,” Sam prompted, making a mental note.

“Kind of,” she answered. “More like a fairy tale. That’s a page from one of the stories that eventually became included in  _ A Thousand Tales _ .”

“Not sure why that would be familiar,” Sam mused.

“Well, some of the early pieces of written literature appear similar,” Byrony pointed out. “You may have seen images in art history or literature.”

Sam nodded encouragingly, moving to allow the waitress room to slide his plate in front of him, completely focused on Byrony.

“Before there was writing, oral storytelling was a way of passing down knowledge.” Byrony continued. “Anyway, sorry about the geek fest. But my main point is, that particular manuscript is from an oral story that became a book. It eventually became quite popular. It’s a collection of Middle Eastern and South Asian stories.”

“That’s amazing!” Sam was impressed. “Can you explain the manuscript to me?”

Byrony settled down, her bronze eyes smiling, gnawing thoughtfully around a curly fry. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Where to begin. Let me tell you a story…”

* * *

 

It was embarrassingly easy for Dean and Cas to gain entry to the funeral home. It seemed the town had decided to focus more funds into the museum, which brought in seasonal tourism. It barely took five minutes for Dean and his set of lockpicks to open the door.

They moved quickly through the lobby, Dean barely sparing a glance at the muted wallpaper and white-painted chair rails. Their shoes pressed deep into the burgundy plush carpet, muffling the noise of their steps. The air was still, not only because the staff had left, but the hushed, expectant and sorrowful still places like these seemed to emanate from the walls. On one side were the office, restrooms, display room and viewing area. Dean’s neck was prickling, tiny hairs raised as they bypassed the chapel. 

He knew Cas was behind him but didn’t turn or speak to him. The angel’s breath was barely audible but his presence was palpable at Dean’s back. Cas hadn’t spoken since their time… together. Dean winced internally. 

It was getting harder to deny what was going on between him and Cas. From the very beginning, this pull had been there. A magnet in his chest, pulling him closer than he should have been to the angel. After Cas pulled him out of hell, it got even stronger, a constant yearning, an itch. A tickle in his awareness if the angel wasn’t nearby.

So Dean gave in a little at a time, because the closer he got, the better it felt. Before long, he had trouble with it if Cas was on the other side of the room. It felt weird, like something indefinable and familiar had been moved just an inch. It niggled.

Dean hated the niggle. Like everything that he couldn’t quite define, he avoided it. Instead, he just made it a habit. Stand next to Cas. Make a beeline for Cas. Just like he did for Sam, right? He could even shrug off the insinuation of the more talkative dicks they dealt with when they joked about him and Cas. Dean could always say Cas is family, of course, we are close.

And everything was going okay, more or less. Sure, a few glances or extra moments in each other’s space could be ignored. Even before this case, they had done shit like that. Both he and Cas were guilty on that front, he admitted.

And then Sam had come up with this brilliant idea. Take a road trip up to New Hampshire, enjoy some scenery, gank some evil. An easy case with extra time to hang out. But Sam was in another town, and it all had gone to shit. 

The fight against it had gone on way too long. All the walls had crumbled, somehow. The unspoken boundary had been crossed. And they were way past just looking at each other.

He knew they were due for a serious conversation. For the moment, he forced it back into the overflowing box he kept in the very back of his head.

The hall they were walking down led to a door, marked “Private”. Dean unlocked it swiftly, keeping his back to Cas. For some unknown reason, he was experiencing a bizarre aching sensation in the very center of his chest, but he wasn’t going to mention that to Cas. No siree.

Predictably, the door opened to some narrow stairs down into the basement. This was where bodies were embalmed or stored for later in the town. Since the police seemed to be trying to bury the case, Dean was fairly certain the body they were looking for would be here instead of in the Medical Examiner and Coroner’s building for criminal cases.

The basement was cooler than the building above and had no natural light from windows, so Dean flicked on the lights. A faint buzz came from the ancient overhead fluorescent fixtures. The floor was cement, double doors leading into a large room. The lab was opposite, but Dean and Cas went through the double doors. Although he had years of experience, Dean was no fan of the smell, which reminded him uncomfortably of food left too long in the freezer. Thankfully, it didn’t permeate the air much. Like most morgues, this room had a wall-length stainless steel cabinet section at the back end for bodies.  There were steel counters, sinks, and drains, all scrupulously clean. No tools were left out, and only one examination table held a body.

Dean strolled up to it and checked the toe tag. “Let’s get a look under this sheet,” he muttered to himself.

Cas took his place on the opposite side of the table, and Dean lifted the sheet, whistling to himself. The skin was papery, wizened, flesh draping in leathery strands across the darkened bones. The eyes were sunken completely into dark caverns, the lips dehydrated and nonexistent. The ribs rose in freakish arches over the deep abdominal cavity, which was filled with glittering sand. 

“You weren’t lying about the sand,” Dean managed, glancing up and meeting Cas’ eyes. 

“I make a point of being honest with you, Dean,” Cas reprimanded with a sigh. “This sand is the same as I saw at the museum scene, but a much greater quantity.”

Dean huffed. “What the hell happened to his innards?”

“His internal organs have been removed somehow,” Cas intoned solemnly. “This body appears to be rapidly dehydrated in a supernatural manner.”

“Are you saying this is a mummy?”, Dean demanded. “I thought those weren’t a monster.”

“I said this body had its organs removed,” Cas replied. “This body doesn’t have enough skin remaining on the abdomen for me to assess whether or not the organs were removed in the traditional way of the Egyptians, but they aren’t there. A major  difference between this body and a mummy is that the brain is still present.”

Dean peered back over the desiccated remains. 

“Does this mean we could expect zombies?”, he intoned, half joking.

“I highly doubt that Dean,” Cas answered testily. “The brain is present, but not whole. It almost seems liquified. The decomposition process was significantly shortened. Usually, these remains would not appear like this for months or perhaps a year if left in the desert.”

“So something that can create an insta-mummy. What kind of creature does that?” Dean asked.

“As I said before, calling this a mummy would be suggesting the remains were prepared. This body’s decomposition is just far advanced. As for creatures responsible, here are some options, but I’m not aware of any that would prey on humans and leave this kind of remains,” Cas responded lowly. “The thing of interest is the sand. We should ask Sam if he has any ideas on it.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, returning the sheet and leading the way out.

The parking lot was dark and quiet as the two made their way to the car. Down the street, Dean glimpsed a family parked in front of a drug store. They were just piling back into their overpacked van, probably stopping for diapers or medicine in the middle of their road trip. The father was already at the wheel, the mother bending over to place a baby in her car seat. Two dark-haired boys were waffling around outside the van door, not eager to go back in. The mother called, and younger one began a slow, shuffling trek back, sweatshirt flapping open and cheeks pink in the wind. The older boy followed him, and the mother finished buckling the baby in, then took her seat and the van drove off. 

Dean found himself wondering where the family was headed, that they had to stop in the middle of the night. It reminded him of the old days when John Winchester had dragged them around the country. Sometimes driving for an entire week with only bathroom breaks in between. Dean shook his head. His life hadn’t changed much, but at least he didn’t have that asshole ditching him and Sammy somewhere. Now he was in control of his own destiny. A man, hunting his own monsters and gankin’ em.

* * *

 

On the ride back, Cas sat in the passenger’s seat of the Impala, studying Dean’s profile as it was highlighted by passing cars. Dean was focused intently on the road, but his shoulders lacked the tenseness from earlier.  His fingers were drumming on the steering wheel, his full lips pursed as he whistled tunelessly.

Something tugged in Cas’ chest. Affection, perhaps. Since their earlier encounter, things had become slightly awkward. He had called out for Dean reflexively, then heard the man moan beyond the door. Before he could consider his actions, he had called again and stood. Hurriedly, Cas had shoved himself into haphazard order and opened the door. The hunter had stood there, leaning against the frame, a blush suffusing the freckled cheeks.

“Guess you heard that, huh,” Dean had commented, shuffling. His shoulders had been pulled tightly together, green eyes downcast.

“Yes,” Cas had said simply, smoothing his wrinkled shirt down uselessly.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the hunter had huffed.

“Why are you apologizing?” Cas had asked. “You have never seemed prudish before.”

“Dude--” Dean had broken off, almost squirming. “Can we please not talk about this?”

“But Dean,” Cas had persisted, “Masturbation is perfectly normal. I have told you this before. It’s a healthy way for humans to cope with stress and release endorphins.”

The hunter had winced, pulling back from the door and waving his hands in surrender.

“You make it sound so clinical,” he had complained.

“I apologize if my tone isn’t colloquial enough, Dean,” Cas had retorted defensively. “Perhaps it would make you feel better to say it’s good for you to ‘whack off’?”

Dean had run a hand over his face slowly, exhaling as his fingers drew the corners of his mouth down slightly. After a moment, he had regained his composure.

“I would rather not have a conversation about me masturbating,” he had said carefully.

“As you wish,” Cas had answered. “I personally found the situation quite stimulating.”

“I am probably going to regret this,” Dean had ventured, returning to his original spot near the door, “but what situation?”

“Being on the bed, thinking about you.” Cas had glanced up, seen a flash of hunger in those jade-green eyes. “Then, hearing you. So close.”

“God!” Dean had groaned, moving toward him.

Cas had grasped him firmly, their lips crashing together, devouring each other like only a moment had passed. His skin had instantly burst into sparks, his hands had gripped desperately over Dean’s muscled back. He had swallowed each of the hunter’s moans eagerly, sucking them from his mouth. Ripples of pleasure had ripped through him, causing him to tighten his grip, shove the human toward his bed.

Dean had gone willingly, grinning fiercely as Cas had pressed kisses into his neck. The skin had been hot, salty, tasted of Dean. Of wild, forested places, campfires, iron. Cas hadn’t paused until he got to the hollow in Dean’s throat, and then he had lapped up the tiny beads of sweat like they were jewels. 

His teeth had met the tender, thin skin just above the collarbone, created red marks that would later bruise. Cas had worked his hands beneath the hunter’s shirt and worked it up over his head, crowding him to the bed.

Dean had landed first, Cas a second after, one leg sliding dangerously between Dean’s. But Dean had just moaned, and spread, allowing Cas access to his chest. All that glorious, scarred, freckled skin. Firm and sweet. Ribs begging to be nipped and bit. Cas had laved his tongue across every inch, every dark line of the tattoo. And yet his body had burned hotter, brighter. He had pulled himself up, looming over the hunter, to stare deep into that grass-green gaze.

“I want you on your knees,” Cas had ground out, crazed with lust.

Dean had slid his hands up Cas’ back, licked his gorgeous lips, and whispered, “Yes.”

Cas was off him with a thought, pulling him back up to standing.

“But not now,” Dean had said, placing his hand on Cas’ chest. “It’s getting dark. We have to go; view that body.”

Cas had growled, but he knew it was true. 

“Fine,” he had agreed. “Not tonight. But soon.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam continues his research in the library. Dean and Cas go for lunch and get pulled into investigating another scene.

The next morning, Sam bounced out of bed, feeling the most refreshed he had in days. Byrony’s “magic cocoa” and her bubbly company had helped him immensely. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and was pleased, stalling a bit to straighten the collar of his dark blue flannel shirt. He hadn’t seen himself this happy in a while. It was nice to be spending time out of the Bunker, saving lives. And being able to hang out with Byrony last night didn’t hurt things either.

He bent down to lace his sneakers but was interrupted when his phone rang from its position on the table, where he had left it last night. Hurrying, he grabbed it, holding it against his shoulder as he knelt down to finish tying his shoes.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice echoed, the cheerful tone stretched thin.

“What’s up, Dean?” Sam asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Dean replied. “We didn’t get anything out of the interviews yesterday. But we did get a look at the body.”

“Oh?” Sam winced. His neck was getting a crick from the strange position he was using to hold the phone against his shoulder. He swiftly finished his last knot and rose, banging his head on the table in the process. “OW!”

“You okay, man?” his brother asked, worried.

“Yeah, just hit my head on the -- Son of a bitch!” Sam yelled, reaching out. 

Sadly, he was minutes too late, and his newly-acquired coffee had rocked onto the floor, upset from its perch on the table when he banged his head.

“You hit your head on a son of a bitch?” Dean laughed. “Give em hell, Sammy-o. That dude totally deserved it.”

“Very funny, jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the inadequate towels from the bathroom to mop the floor. 

Evidently, the hotel saved money by producing the towels from a harsh, liquid-resistant fabric that just sort of spread everything around on the peeling linoleum. He sighed. 

“So tell me about the body.”

“Well, it was really weird,” Dean answered. “It was all dried up like a piece of jerky.”

“Dehydrated?”, Sam asked, interested. “Like a mummy?”

“That’s what I said, but Cas said it isn’t a mummy.” Dean sounded slightly disappointed. “Something about the decomposition process.”

“That is strange,” Sam agreed. “Usually that kind of thing takes a while.”

“Am I the only person who doesn’t read Creepy Serial Killer Monthly?” Dean snarked. “How do you and Cas know these things?”

“I’m educated,” Sam answered shortly. “So what about the sand?”

“I dunno, but the body’s chest and stomach were full of it. I guess it’s from a desert,” Dean answered.  

A voice was heard rumbling in the background. “Cas says it’s pretty common to a lot of areas that have sand, but almost every continent has a desert.”

“Huh.” Sam paused for thought. “So how is a random comic book store owner dead and rapidly decomposed and mummified?”

“You mean why is he Nerd Jerky?” Dean clarified. “No idea. And it’s even crazier because the scene was so strange. There was half of a bookshelf burned down, and it was obviously done on purpose.”

“Strange,” Sam shook his head. “None of this has anything to do with my research. Maybe I am way off over here.”

“Well, what have you been doing over there in Peterborough?” Dean demanded.

“Research. And I got food poisoning,” Sam retorted.

Dean laughed. “Sounds like fun, dude. Told you to stay away from the lettuce.”

“I thought since the manuscript in the museum was the only thing not from the same time period, it could have something to do with the case,” Sam continued, ignoring his brother.

“Does it?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think so. I mean, the time period is definitely late, and it has some interesting stories about it that are told around the town.”

“Woah, woah!” Dean butted in. “You should’ve lead with that, man. What kind of interesting stories?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” Sam answered. “But basically it’s a story about a story.”

“What the hell?” Dean sighed irritably. “You know what? That is way too much time loop crazy bullshit for me. I’m going to keep pushing that shady Detective. If you want to have Star Trek conversations with your nerd friends, call Charlie or whatever.”

“You are probably right.” Sam agreed ruefully. “None of this explains the body.” 

An idea suddenly niggled, and Sam interrupted himself. “Wait! I think I saw something in one of these books about leaving people out in the sand dunes.”

He hurriedly thumbed through the piles of books, past illustrations and diagrams, tossing aside the ones he knew didn’t have what he needed. As he flipped through one of the heavier books, a page caught under his nail, delivering a nasty cut.

“Damn!” Sam hissed, dropping the book and losing his place.

“What now?!?”, Dean demanded.

“Papercut,” Sam explained. “Goddamn it, I can’t find it. I could’ve sworn I saw something about that in one of these books.”

“Don’t worry about it, Princess,” Dean teased. “It’ll come back to you.”

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam answered, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, a lot of bad shit has been happening to you lately,” Dean pointed out, his tone worried. “Do you have a curse on you or something?”

“I check the room and my car for hex bags every night, Dean,” Sam reminded him. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, keep looking,” Dean commanded. “You wanna come back here? Seems like all the action’s here anyway.”

Something in Dean’s tone made Sam hesitate. He could almost feel the ice wall between Cas and Dean through the phone. He’d go if they needed him, but he didn’t want to be in the middle of that drama.

“Give me one more day to think it over,” Sam answered. “Maybe it’ll occur to me or I will find something in my research.”

“Sounds good,” Dean answered. “Later, bitch.”

“Later, jerk,” Sam replied, but only the dial tone answered.

* * *

After their early morning conversation with Sam, Dean and Cas decided to go to the restaurant attached to the B&B for breakfast. As they entered and hung their coats on the wooden pegs, the sweet smell of fried dough filled the air.

“I knew this was a good idea,” Dean smiled. “I love fried dough. Have you ever had it, Cas?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” Cas’ voice was stiff. 

He hadn’t talked more than was necessary to Dean, and when he did, his answers were short and brief. His normally expressive blue eyes were distant and often flicked away from Dean’s gaze.

“You’re in for a treat,” Dean promised jovially, hoping to cheer up Cas. 

He knew it was his fault that they were in this weird situation. He had allowed weakness to take over and indulged in his desires. Now his best friend could hardly look at him. Dean shook himself savagely, John Winchester’s angry sermons echoing in his mind. Hunters couldn’t afford relationships. Any weakness would be used to destroy him.

These dark thoughts muddled Dean’s mind so much that he almost ran into a family exiting the restaurant. A boy of about ten with messy dark hair and a thin gray sweatshirt stared up at Dean with giant blue-grey eyes. He looked startled, his birdlike chest rising and falling rapidly as Dean apologized.

“Do I know you?” Dean asked. “You look very familiar.”

“We live nearby,” the father, a middle-aged man wearing pressed fabric, answered.

Dean was about to question them further when he felt a cold, thin hand pressing into his arm. He looked down to see the frizzy brown head of Janice, the front desk lady.

“I hate to bother you,” she said, her voice barely hiding a tremble, “but may I have a word?”

“Sure,” Dean answered, peeling himself away from her touch. 

He and Cas followed her back through the door into the front desk area, which was currently empty.

“How can we help you, Janice?” Cas asked, stepping forward slightly in concern.

Janice paused to dab her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Her breath was already coming in hiccups, causing her chest to heave unevenly beneath the starched fabric of her blouse. 

“Someone else has died!” she sobbed.

“What?” Dean asked. “When?”

“Sometime last night!” she moaned, her glasses beginning to fog. She delicately lifted them off her nose and wiped them with her handkerchief.

“Janice,” Cas intoned, “You need to give us the address. It could be very important.”

“That’s what I brought you here for!” She retorted. “I couldn’t just bring it up in front of everyone! Oh! Those poor people!” 

Dean exchanged a look with Cas. Despite her weepy nature, Janice was correct. Conversations about dead people tended to cause panic. Janice mopped her red face with her handkerchief, then placed it back in her pocket. Calming down, she turned and retrieved the address from a sticky note on the desk.

“Here you are,” she said, offering it to Dean.

“How did you hear about this?” Cas asked. 

“A lady in my position hears all the rumors,” Janice answered loftily. “But in this case, it involves someone I used to know quite well. An old friend.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dean replied, and turned to leave, Cas close on his heels.

As Dean navigated the Impala down the winding country roads, Cas took a moment to ponder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean’s jaw, set tightly and clicking every time he swallowed. The man was so tense he was almost vibrating, muttering to himself about the roads and pavement in the state of New Hampshire. His bulky shoulders were bunched rocks beneath his suit jacket, but even full of anger, he was beautiful. The morning sun was picking out the golden glints in Dean’s skin, his hair and the fine stubble on his chin. The thick, calloused fingers drummed restlessly on the dash. 

Cas thought back to their few moments of passion together earlier. He had no idea what had happened. It was as if something had compelled him. The building tension was suddenly too much, and he had been driven mad. Now an insatiable, undeniable ache was building again in his vessel. Running frisson down his palms, his fingers. Raising the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Increasing the rate of his heart. 

Cas struggled against it, even his angelic will susceptible to the constant pull. He had seen temptation before, had heard his brethren speak of it, but never experienced anything like this. It was a wonder Dean could fight it, but perhaps he was more used to this kind of struggle than Cas was.

Without having to look at Dean, Cas could feel Dean’s every muscle clenched, brought into strict attention by that iron mind. Cas had promised Dean to not read his thoughts, but every so often, he sensed flashes. Right now, those flashes were mainly rage, fear, and sorrow. Worried, Cas had begun to speak earlier, but Dean had cut him off. Perhaps the man needed some time to process.

Still, Cas found the situation confusing. Despite his momentary lapse of control, or because of it, he had highly enjoyed his time with Dean. More than enjoyed. He had experienced something ephemeral, something the humans referred to as “bliss”. It was dizzying, breathless, new. Far better than flying above dark countryside at night, better than beholding the creation of stars. Cas knew instinctively that although they had many conflicts through the years, he would always return to Dean and Dean to him. That bond was unique in all the world.

Anxiety began to rise as Cas’ mind wandered further. What had he done? Was this act not the final step he sought, but something that would ruin his tie with Dean? Would Dean’s fear and self-loathing pull him closer to the Pit? Only Dean himself could sever that bond, it was made from the choice they both had made. The question was, would Dean make that choice? Would he turn from Cas?

* * *

Dean was spending the drive time listing the things he hated about this tiny town. First of all, everyone here was weird. He had yet to meet someone that didn’t wear clothes from the 1900s and act like an alien. Their strange, formal speech and behavior was driving him insane. The way most of the women avoided eye contact and would pull away from handshakes. This case was not any less crazy either. What the hell did a box of coins, some sand, and some random comic book store owner have in common? Where was the thread to hold it all together? Sure, the investigation was part of the fun, but in his mind, this case was taking too damn long to get to the ganking part.

Dean viciously hoped that this thing took a few steps to kill. He had some serious energy to burn, and nowhere to put it. Poor Baby was already squealing and creaking a little on this cracked pavement, so speeding here was not an option. He swore to himself if the suspension got messed up, he would sue this lame ass town. Just as he was thinking that, the pavement gave out completely, and they were on a dirt road.

“Motherfucker,” Dean swore angrily. Thankfully, they were pretty much there. It was a small neighborhood of trailers in varying states of disrepair. The first few looked mildly beat down, like the families that owned them couldn’t afford lawn mowers, but the deeper in they went, the more rusty and old everything got. Finally, near the back end of the neighborhood, which was set in a valley ringed with dilapidated spruce trees, Dean spotted the same giant black Suburban.

“Look who’s here!” Dean commented, flashing a false grin at Cas. “Detective Douchebag!”

Indeed, the Detective was standing outside, hands on hips, speaking to Burriss and a group of officers. Dean vindictively parked Baby so she blocked everyone’s exit and moseyed toward the tape. This time, Burriss just let them in with no argument.

“Well, well,” Detective Kevin boomed, peering down his beak at Dean and Cas. “About time you two showed up.”

“We’d be earlier if you had notified us,” Cas retorted icily. Dean bit the inside of his cheek, resisting a smile.

“Aren’t we supposed to be giving you the lead on this case?” Dean asked, keeping his face open but allowing a tiny bit of snark to sneak into his tone.

“If you insist on being here, you might as well come along in,” the Detective continued, ignoring Cas and Dean’s remarks. “This lady has no relation to our first vic, but the body sure looks familiar.”

Dean and Cas followed, watching their step on the uneven brick pathway to the steps, which were piled concrete blocks. Detective Kevin opened the door, gesturing sardonically.

“Ladies first,” He sneered, lifting one heavy black eyebrow.

Dean shouldered through, glancing around. The trailer was old and ratty, the kitchen and living room making up the first room. A mostly-functioning refrigerator wheezed along in the far right corner with a small metal table and one metal chair set in front of it. There was a trash can at the end of the counter that was overflowing with microwave meal boxes and ice cream quarts. An old couch with a massive slope towards the middle, a splintered coffee table, and a 6-inch black and white tv with rabbit ears was placed randomly on the faded blue carpet that exhaled a hint of mildew every time they stepped. 

Dean found himself hunching slightly as they made their way down the tiny hall. The body was in the bedroom, and this time the Detective hadn’t bothered to cover it with a sheet. The bedspring was directly on the floor. To the right, the body slouched along one wall, leaning against a half-burned tapestry behind it. Boxes filled the remaining space, making Dean wonder how the victim had moved around in here without spilling things. The boxes nearest the body were somewhat burned and the carpet in the area was crisped black. 

The body itself was very similar to the one they had seen before. Her head hung down, hands splayed palm up in her lap. Her skin stretched in thin, leathery ropes between her bones, long, sandy-dark hair falling to hide her chest. Her feet were splayed outwards toward the door, one slipper still partially on one foot.

Cas stepped closer to Dean, unwilling for the Detective to hear him when he whispered: 

“The internal organs are missing again.”

An inappropriate thrill that had nothing to do with the case rushed up his spine, creating a tingle in his ears. He slid forward a step, nodding absently to Cas.

“Who are we looking at?” Dean asked the Detective.

“Jennifer Aven,” he replied, uninterested. “The curator of the museum.”

“Don’t curators usually get paid a lot?” Dean wondered aloud. “Why the hell would this lady live in this craphole?”

“Who knows?” The Detective retorted. “Nobody knew her, nobody even liked her.”

“Janice informed us they were old friends,” Cas challenged.

Detective Kevin huffed another breath. “Like twenty years ago, they were,” he answered finally. “Once she got this job, Jennifer got pretty quiet. I mean, she was always quiet, but she just sorta disappeared slowly. I think nobody saw her recently except the grocery store people.”

“Huh,” Dean puzzled. “Do you think she knew the prior victim? Alex Caulder?”

“Fraj?” The Detective considered, then shook his head. “Nah. She was at least ten years older, and as you can see, she didn’t read comic books.”

“What is all this stuff in boxes?” Dean wondered.

Cas had been wandering around, examining as many as he could without tipping out the contents. 

“They look to be possible new items for the museum,” he informed Dean.

Dean considered this. Was this monster interested in the museum? If so, why kill the comic book store owner? It made no sense. They were still missing something.

“Anything else you can tell us? Finances, relationships?” He asked the Detective.

“Not really,” the taller man replied, “But we should be getting some of that information soon. This looks like it might be something bad. Maybe the FBI can help us after all.”

Dean had to hide his grin again when he heard the frustration in Detective Kevin’s voice. It must be hard for the big man to admit failure so early in.

“We’ll do what we can,” Dean finally managed.

The Detective seemed to accept this and led them back out through the tiny door.

“We’ll contact you if anything arises,” he assured Dean and Cas.

Dean thanked him, a little shocked by the sudden cooperation. A high-handed man like Detective Kevin only gave up control for one reason: fear. Even though the town was tiny, the Detective had probably encountered his own fair share of scary shit. This was beyond what the man had seen before, and that told Dean they may have stumbled closer to the truth behind this case. If only he knew what that was.

Thoughtful, Dean slid into the Impala, silently grateful when Cas settled down on the passenger’s side. Things may be strained between them right now, but he still needed his best friend close by. Reflexively, he checked the rearview mirror before backing out. A thin boy flashed by on a bike. Dean stomped on his break and Baby jerked to a stop.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asked.

“Didn’t we just see that kid?” Dean demanded, gesturing behind him.

Cas turned, obediently scanning the dirt road behind them. 

“I don’t see a child, Dean,” he finally answered softly.

“Well no, he’s gone now, but he rode his damn bike right up behind us,” Dean retorted, aggravated.

“What did you mean when you said we had seen him before?” Cas asked.

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “At the B&B restaurant, maybe some other places. The kid looks familiar.”

“Describe him,” Cas requested, his blue eyes squinting.

“About ten, skinny, dark hair. Big eyes, wearing a gray sweatshirt.”

Cas’ eyes suddenly widened. “That does sound familiar, Dean. I remember you remarking about a child wearing a sweatshirt when we were going in for our interview with the first victim’s family.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Dean decided, cranking up Baby. “What do you think, a ghost? A vengeful spirit?”

“It seems unlikely a vengeful spirit would kill these people in that manner, Dean.” Cas mused. “I still think that this creature may be something we’ve not encountered before. Something powerful.”

“But why would something like that be here?”, Dean wondered. “Wouldn’t a powerful creature have more important shit to do than some backwater hole in the frozen North?”

“It’s not Alaska, Dean,” Cas sighed. “But I see your point. It is strange that a creature with the kind of power to create bodies like this would be here. It seems to point to being linked somehow with the museum theft.”

“But all that got stolen were some old coins,” Dean huffed. A moment passed. Dean’s green eyes flashed over to Cas. “What if the coins are part of it? If the monster wants them and is hunting for them?”

“Like a dragon?” Cas considered. “They do love treasure.”

Taking advantage of a stoplight, Dean dialed Sam and put him on speaker phone.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam’s voice sounded cheery. “What’s up? Anything new?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “We have another victim. This time it’s the curator. Same kind of remains left over.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed. “Things are escalating over there. I’m coming back.”

“Good, get your ass back here,” Dean agreed. “We’re just trying to figure out what it is.”

“Any theories?”

“We’ve ruled out ghosts, vengeful spirits, stuff like that.” Dean stopped a beat. “Could it be a dragon, ya think? Because of the coins?”

“Possibly,” Sam answered. “But doubtful. Remember last time. Their victims don’t look like the ones we have here.”

“I was about to point that out,” interrupted Cas, staring pointedly at Dean.

There was an awkward silence. 

“Are you two… okay?” Sam asked hesitantly. “Is there something I should know about?”

“No!” Dean and Cas answered in tandem.

“I mean,” Dean said, taking a calming breath, “Nothing’s wrong, Sam. Just get your ass over here so we can figure this out.”

“On my way,” Sam answered, ending the call.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be quite short, but I decided to combine it with another one. I hope you guys like it! Thanks for the kudos and comments, as always!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides to join Cas and Dean. Also, phone conversations with Charlie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so late. Yesterday was hectic. Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they make me smile. Also, I stole some of the humor in the chapter from this English comedy called "Chef". ;-)

Sam slid his cell phone into his pocket and gathered up his books. Repressing a sigh, he deposited them back onto the re-shelf area in the library. He had hoped that his research would lead somewhere, but it seemed the case was more focused up with Dean and Cas. He was a bit unhappy that this probably meant that whatever time he could have had with Byrony was rapidly coming to an end. Despite his best intentions, he had started to really like her. Her wry, cutting sense of humor and brilliant thought process made Sam feel more at ease than he had in awhile.

He shrugged on his heavy coat and opened the library door, bracing for the inevitable cold blast. Maybe he’d still have a moment to grab a meal with her, see if there was more there to explore. The thought was slightly terrifying but exciting. Sam had long ago memorized Dean’s sermons on Hunter duty and relationships. 

Maybe it was because Sam had been slightly sheltered from the direct effects of John Winchester’s exhortations, but he still believed that he could find his true love. It had been pretty few and far between, but Sam and Dean had run into some successful hunting couples. Maybe Sam could find someone to do that with. A slight blush tinged his cheeks. If Dean was here, Sam would have blamed the icy wind, but since he was alone, he told himself it was just a natural reaction and not at all caused by thinking about a girl he just met. Hurrying to get out of the cold, he jogged down the steps.

Just as he reached the sidewalk, Sam’s left foot landed on something with a sickening crunch. A sharp, whining hum emanated from the ground at his feet. He glanced down to see his shoe almost completely covered with tiny insects with black, crescent-shaped bodies and tiny yellow patches on their faces and legs. Horror rose along with bile in his stomach at the sight of the chitinous invaders.

Reflexively, Sam shook his foot, but the insects were already climbing up his legs, their stingers parting the thin fabric of his slacks and dragging into the skin of his calves and shins. Each sting seemed to multiply the last, a never-ending cascade of attacks. Burning welts immediately began to develop, causing his muscles to convulse sharply. 

Startled, Sam stepped back, his right foot catching on the stone steps. His arms windmilling, he grabbed for purchase but found none. His hands landed, smearing insect bodies and catching stingers into his palms. The back of his head followed swiftly after, landing on the stone steps with a sharp crack.

Pain exploded in Sam’s skull, echoed faintly by the spreading heat of stings spreading through his ankles and legs. His view narrowed to rushing feet and the vibrating, boiling crowd of chitinous creatures surrounding him. The heavy hum became a thundering drone in his ears, and just before his eyes flickered closed, Sam heard the faraway wail of a siren. 

* * *

 

Darkness pressed along his lids. It was hypnotizing, heavy. He was cradled, warm and swaddled. Beyond, a rhythmic tone was sounding, a high, tinny beep. Any thoughts were muddled, surfacing half-formed out of the lake of sleep only to return unfinished. All breaths were slow and even, all muscles near liquid states of relaxation.

“SAMMY!” A voice bellowed.

It was familiar, but he couldn’t grasp why. The warm embrace of blankets lulled him back.

“Please, sir, I need you to return to the waiting room,” another voice, this one female, sounding frazzled.

“The fuck I’ll go sit over there and wait. He’s my brother. Don’t you allow relatives in here? SAMMY!”

“Please, sir, try to remain quiet,” the female voice chided. “If you can’t remain seated, I will have to call security.”

“I’d like to see you try!” The male voice growled.

“Excuse me, are you Dean?” A new female voice, slightly breathless. “Sam’s brother?”

“Yeah,” the voice, Dean, answered warily. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Byrony,” she greeted. “I’m a CNA. Come on, I can take you to see him.”

Byrony? Sam’s eyes snapped open as awareness slammed in. She was here? Wait, where was here, exactly?

Careful not to move, he scanned the room. He was laying on his side facing the door. An IV was in his left hand, hooking him up to a saline drip. His finger was in an oxygen reader, which was linked up to a monitor. That’s where the beeping came from, he mused. 

The sound of footsteps outside the door. A rapid knock and Byrony came in. Dean and Cas followed her. Dean was bristling, while Cas was eyeing the room with a remote curiosity. Immediately, Byrony’s eyes fell on Sam.

“Well, look who’s awake!” She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up bronze.

Sam grinned back, feeling his cheeks begin to flush. He began to speak, but his lips were dry. Byrony came to the head of the bed, angling her body so Dean and Cas could see what she was doing, and offered Sam some water from a cup nearby.

Sam gulped it down. 

“Thanks,” he rasped.

“No problem,” Byrony twinkled, the purple ends of her dark hair flicking against her shoulder.

“So you know Sam?” Dean asked, slightly mollified by Sam speaking.

“Yup,” Byrony answered, not at all bothered that Sam hadn’t mentioned her. “I met Sam a couple days ago at my parents’ B&B. We’ve hung out a couple times since.”

“Your parents’?” Dean took a moment to process. “You’re the Statton’s daughter?”

“Yup, I was just visiting. I live and work here in Peterborough.” She aimed a cheeky grin at Sam. “I work up in Peds normally. Thankfully, this place is so small, I heard a rumor that Sam was here.”

She paused for a moment, considering.

“Actually, it was a two-part rumor,” she added, chuckling. “First, one of the EMTs said we had a visitor to Peterborough in the ER. I came down here thinking maybe it was Sam since we don’t get that much traffic. When I got here, I heard one of the CNAs complaining about the giant long-haired dude that barely fit on the bed.”

“What happened to Sam?” Dean’s fierce demeanor didn’t hide his worry.

“Oh, he stepped on a nest of wasps,” she replied cheerily. “Fell on the steps to the library and conked his noggin. Thankfully, his chart says no damage to his head, but I’m pretty sure the doctor is going to want to keep him 24 hours to make sure he doesn’t develop a coma.”

“ _ Sphecius speciosus _ is a common wasp in this area,” Cas added. “Sam should consider himself fortunate he was not allergic.”

“We don’t need a science lesson right now, Cas,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “How did you hit your head, Sam?”

“I think I may have tripped after I was stung,” Sam answered slowly. “It’s pretty fuzzy. I remember stepping on the hive, though.”

“Yuck,” Byrony shuddered, crinkling her nose. “I bet that was not a fun experience.”

“Not at all,” Sam agreed, sipping more water.

“It’s not like you to trip,” Cas pointed out, worried.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Dean.” Byrony turned to go. “Nice to meet you, Dean’s friend.”

“My name is Cas.” the angel reached forward to offer a hand.

Ignoring it, Byrony stepped in and gave him a brief hug. 

“Sam’s told me loads about you. I bet we’ll be friends.”

Cas stiffened, but accepted the hug carefully, receiving amused looks from the brothers. Byrony waved again and exited the room, her black and purple pigtail swishing. Sam followed the progress of her scrub-clad hips until the door closed.

“Damn,” Dean whistled, smirking. “Someone’s hot for nurse.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam protested weakly.

“You shut up and let’s blow this place,” Dean commanded. “Time’s a-wasting on this case.”

Sam struggled briefly, but heaviness was weighing down his neck and muscles.

“I’d love to, man, but I am feeling kind of sleepy,” he slurred, placing his cup back on the nearby table.

“I think in this case, Byrony was right,” Cas pointed out. “Look at him, Dean. His head is uninjured and the venom is gone from his blood. He just needs to sleep.”

“Are you crazy, Cas?” Dean demanded, turning. His eyes spat green fire. “We can’t just abandon him. What if he gets attacked?”

“By what?” Cas retorted. “We have no idea what this creature is. It is strange that Sam seems to be encountering some negative events, but the lack of hex bags suggests this is random bad luck.”

Dean huffed, his shoulders tight and neck stiff.

“He needs rest,” Cas went on calmly. “He can do that with us, where the creature is more likely to attack, or he can do it here, where he is comfortable and has a staff to take care of him.”

Dean nodded. He knew Cas was right, but he wasn’t about to admit it. 

Unaware of the end of the conversation, Sam had drifted back to sleep, his head cradled against the pillow and hands relaxed on his lap.

* * *

 

Before they headed home, Dean parked Baby next to the first diner they came across. As the engine cooled, he sat with his spine straight, jaw ticking, avoiding eye contact with Cas.

“I need some food,” he stated flatly.

“As you know, my vessel doesn’t require sustenance,” Cas replied, head turned away.

“I know that, but it’s freezing outside, dude.” Dean pointed out. “People will think it’s weird if you’re just sitting in a car.”

“Perhaps you could leave it running,” Cas suggested. “Then you can eat as you wish.”

Dean shrugged, hard shoulders sliding beneath his leather jacket. “Fine.”

He exited the vehicle, leaving it running. The door clicked firmly closed. As soon as Dean’s back had retreated from view, Cas slid his phone from his pocket. According to human conventions, it was more polite to call rather than just show up, which Cas never understood. Surely a visit was more pleasant to see someone face-to-face rather than deal with this ringing piece of plastic in your pocket. 

However, custom was custom, and Cas tried to be polite. He scrolled through his contacts and found the one he was looking for almost immediately, as it was saved to “Favorites”.

“Cas! How’s it hangin?” Charlie answered.

“Good afternoon, Charlie,” Cas replied. “I am unsure of which ‘it’ you are referring to in that question.”

“Cas,” she giggled, “That’s a figure of speech. Although I assume the ‘it’ in this specific question most probably refers to balls. Boys always like to ask each other about their balls.”

Cas felt the tension in his body release a little as he imagined Charlie on the other end of the phone call, her ginger hair probably swinging everywhere as she talked. The way her nose crinkled up like a rabbit’s. He liked the way her laugh never made him feel stupid, just included.

“If that is what you are asking, Charlie, my testicles are hanging at the proper angle.” He paused, knowing this would inevitably lead to a chortle, and it did. “I am not sure as to the reason for that question.”

“Just asking how you’re feeling, dude,” she answered, still a little giggly.

“Confused,” Cas admitted. “Can I ask about something… private?”

“Sure, Cas,” Charlie answered, and Cas could hear the rustle of her clothes as she probably settled herself in her super-plush thinking chair. 

One of the few expensive pieces of furniture Charlie owned, this was a recliner with the perfect mix of support and softness. She had shown it to Cas, explaining to him that a proper thinking chair allowed room for the person’s mind to wander. Cas wasn’t sure of the benefit of that, but Charlie’s mind was healthy, genius level, so maybe she was right.

Cas took a deep breath and dove in.

“I don’t know how to approach this,” he admitted.

“Begin at the beginning,” she advised solemnly.

“This case is very strange,” Cas remarked slowly. “I have noticed some new reactions in my vessel. Strong urges and feelings I have never experienced before.”

“You mean like hunger?” A thoughtful pause. “Is something wrong with your vessel?”

“Not like hunger,” Cas corrected. “Because with hunger you can eat to get full. This is something that, if I do it, I only want more. And I can’t sense anything out of order with my vessel.”

“Huh,” Charlie mused. “Only wanting more… Sounds like lust.”

Heat rushed up Cas’ face. 

“I’m experiencing lust?” He asked, barely believing. “How is that possible?”

“Well, your vessel is human,” Charlie pointed out. “I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Angels have lived countless centuries in human vessels without having lust,” he countered. “Our will overrides the base instincts. As long as it is fully possessed, the vessel needs no sustenance, sleep, or sex.”

“I take from your tone your vessel is fully possessed,” Charlie stated.

“Yes.”

“There is another possibility,” she offered, her voice soft and empathetic.

“What?” Cas demanded unevenly.

“Cas,” Charlie breathed, emphasizing every word, “You are experiencing lust.”

“We just went over why that isn’t possible, Charlie,” he argued irritably.

“You aren’t hearing me,” she insisted. “You. Not your vessel. You.”

“Me?” Cas blustered. “I couldn’t possibly. Angels don’t feel…we aren’t equipped…”

“Maybe something happened. Maybe you changed.” Charlie’s voice was low, patient.

“How is this possible?” Cas whispered, fearful.

“Cas,” she said, “Do you like Dean? In a sexy way?”

“Dean is my very close friend,” Cas answered automatically. “We share a--”

“‘Profound bond’, I know,” Charlie interrupted. “But do you want to do sexy things to his sexy man body?” 

She paused, made a petite yacking noise. “I think I just grossed myself out…”

Cas sighed, considering. 

“I think I may have those desires,” he admitted slowly. “In fact, every time we have kissed, I have enjoyed it immensely.”

“WHAT?!?!” Charlie squealed, causing Cas to pull the phone from his ear with a wince. 

After a moment, he thought it might be safe to put it back to his ear. Evidently, he had missed about half of a diatribe on best buddies and what they did and did not withhold from each other.

“After all, I would tell you if I had finally locked lips with someone I was pining for…”

“I am  _ not _ pining for Dean!” Cas interjected.

“Oh?” Charlie challenged archly. “Check in the mirror and answer me this one question. Are you blushing right now?”

Cas didn’t have to look. Sullenly, he remained silent, his cheeks flaming.

“Oooooooh!” That piercing squeal again. Cas was quite sure it could be used to torture dogs.

“Cas,” Charlie finally demanded when she had breath, “you have to get all up on that. And give me deets. But not gross deets.”

“There was far too much slang in that request for me to understand it,” Cas claimed loftily.

“No way that’s gonna work on me, smarty pants,” Charlie snarked. “Now you get your little Angel butt out there and tell Dean you like him.”

“I doubt that would have the desired result, Charlie,” Cas worried.

“Maybe not,” she admitted. “Maybe Dean doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“Am I?” Cas wondered. “Good for him?”

“What the heck kinda question is that?” Charlie demanded, brooking no argument. “Of course you are good for him, Cas. You’re the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful person in the universe. And he’s gaga over you.”

“I think you may be mistaken,” he pointed out. “Dean has implied that anything outside the realm of friendship could be bad.”

Charlie considered a moment. Cas could almost see the wheels turning in her genius brain.

“Okay,” she concluded. “You like him, you are good for him. Do you want him to like you back?”

Cas couldn’t hide the needy gasp that escaped his mouth. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

“Dean is stubborn,” she warned.

“I’m aware,” Cas answered wryly.

“All right,” she gave in. “I will think up a way to help you.”

“Thank you so much,” Cas answered fervently. “Have you made any progress on the case?”

“Well, once I got the information from Sammy, I made a little progress,” she said, but Cas could tell she was smiling. “I don’t know why you let him do research. He only ever uses Google.”

“He likes to feel useful,” Cas agreed, surprising himself.

Charlie dissolved into giggles.

“Harsh!” She howled. “You just mean-girled Sam!”

“It was not my intention,” stammered Cas.

“No way, don’t apologize,” she said, regaining her composure. “I like the new, snarky Cas. Snarky and lusty. What other surprises lie under that trench coat?”

Cas paused, but decided the last question was meant to be rhetorical.

“So what did you find out about the case?” He inquired.

“The coins that were stolen,” Charlie said, “They are supposedly linked to a story about a treasure. There were many ancient stories about treasures, so it was difficult to narrow down. However, I also found a record of one coin of very similar appearance being found in a fountain.”

“A fountain?” Cas’ brow furrowed. “How strange.”

“Oh it gets weirder,” she continued. “Evidently this old fountain was blessed or cursed or  _ somethinged _ by one of those ancient creatures in the story.”

“An ancient creature? What is it?” Cas pressed.

“Could be a variety of things,” Charlie mused. “Deity, spirit, powerful ancient hoodoo, who knows.”

“Hmm,” Cas rumbled.

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed. “I have another call. Oh, it’s Dean. Shall I ask him about his feelings for you?”

Cas sensed teasing, but he knew Charlie wouldn’t hurt him on purpose.

“If you can do so and remain discreet,” he allowed. “Goodbye, Charlie. Stay safe.”

“You as well, Angel dear,” she sang and hung up.

* * *

 

Inside the diner, Dean fidgeted. Glanced over the dogeared menu. Tried to wet his incessantly dry mouth with the tepid water provided. Ignored the waitress. Tapped his fingers rapidly on the linoleum. This devolved into him humming to himself, using the knife, fork, and glass of water as his drum set, bobbing his head back and forth and looking totally badass doing it.

Finally, a tired-looking girl with faded maroon hair sidled up.

“You gonna eat?” She asked waspishly.

Dean eyeballed her and decided he didn’t have the energy to flirt.

“Ya got bacon burgers here?” He retorted.

“Um, we have burgers…?” She trailed off, worried.

“Do you have bacon?” He demanded, annoyed.

“Yes….?” Her voice was timorous.

Dean took pity on her. “Then put some on the burger.”

Her dull gray eyes lit up as she scribbled this down.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Man, you are so smart. Anything else?”

Dean bit back a sigh. Idiot. 

“Sure. You got pie?”

“Um….” she hedged, looked around.

Dean caught a glimpse of two pies displayed in glass on the counter. 

“See those?” He pointed. “Cut a big piece of one pie and put it on a plate.”

She scribbled furiously again. 

“Okay. Be right out,” she said, actually cracking a smile at him.

Dean attempted another drum solo, but the magic was gone. He took a few straws and experimented with shooting them at unsuspecting customers, but quit after that earned a couple of dirty looks. He scratched his neck, tapped his foot. Worried he had scuffed his boot, checked. Nope. Tried whistling tunelessly through his teeth. More dirty looks. These people had no sense of humor. 

Finally, he decided to be cool and ignore everyone while scrolling through his phone. This had limited potential for time wasting since his phone was an old flip phone and didn’t scroll. Pretty much all he could do with it was look at his contacts and one very grainy picture of questionable origins. Sighing, he picked through his contacts, deleting the scary exes.

Charlie. Hmm. Hadn’t heard from her yet. Might as well. The phone rang 3, 4 times. Unusual for Red.

“Hey, Bitch!” the familiar voice finally answered, sounding gleeful.

“Hey, Red,” he answered cautiously.

A happy Charlie sometimes led to crazy situations. Actually, almost every time he had heard that tone, it had ended up with him dressed in some crazy tights battling fruity fairy bad guys. Dean shuddered.

“So, how’s it goin’?” 

Oh God. Singsong voice. What fresh horrors await?

“Good?” Dean hazarded.

“Great!” Charlie said. “I wanted to let you know some stuff about the case.”

She brought him up to speed, but that scary cheerful lilt was still fucking there.

“Um, Charlie,” Dean finally asked. “I’m probably going to regret this, but…. Is there a reason you sound so….I don’t know….  _ happy _ ?”

“No!” Charlie shot back. Almost too quickly. “Just enjoying my time alone.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean sat back. “Doin what?”

“Besides research?” Charlie clarified. “Not much. Just girl stuff. Vagina stuff.”

Gross.

“Um, ew.” Dean curled up his nose. “Never mind.”

“So how are Sam and Cas?” She asked; her voice back to normal.

“Well, Sam got stung by bees or something, but he’s recovering,” Dean answered.

“Oh no! That sucks.”

“And Cas is fine. He’s… Cas. You know.”

“Real descriptive, Dean,” snarked Charlie.

“I dunno!” Dean slumped forward. “You know how he is. Stiff. Hard to read. Got a stick up his righteous ass.”

“Yeah, that’s Cas,” she agreed, and he could hear her smiling. “Has it been weird working with him? I know you two don’t usually get time alone.”

Dean froze but detected nothing unusual in her voice or the question.

“Uh, I guess it’s all right,” he answered finally.

“That’s not encouraging.”

“Well,” Dean sighed. “I mean, he’s cool. He doesn’t talk much and he doesn’t listen to lame shit on the radio or try to have Feelings Conversations like Sam. It’s okay I guess.”

“Good. I’m glad you two are getting along.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, but then added without thinking: “It’s just weird.”

“Oh?” Charlie’s voice was neutral. Thank God. “You mean the case?”

“Well, the case is weird,” Dean agreed. He paused. “But being around Cas is kinda weird too.”

There was a responding pause as Charlie took a minute to form a reply.

“Why’s that?” She asked, her voice soft.

“I dunno.” Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “He just--- he weirds me out. He breaks all the rules, goddamnit.”

There was another pause.

“Dean,” Charlie asked carefully, “Do you like Cas?”

“C’mon man, not you too!” Dean moaned, shoving his face in his hands. “Ever since that stupid musical, every freaking demon and monster I run into…”

“Ask you about Cas?” Charlie questioned. “Huh.”

“Right?” Dean demanded. “Buncha weirdos. I mean, Cas is cool and whatever, but he’s a dude. And an angel. He’s an angel dude.” 

Man, that sounded better in his head. Dean kicked the grimy linoleum floor absently. Instead of laughing, though, Charlie just kept on talking in that same low voice.

“Dean, I know it’s hard for you. Things have always been messy and complicated with Cas.”

A pause. Then Charlie’s voice slowed.

“I want to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to answer it right away, okay?”

“What? Why? Is this some kind of therapy bullshit?” Dean demanded.

The silence on the other end deflated him.

“Fine, ask,” he groused.

“Do you want to be with Cas?” She asked, simply. A beat. Dean sighed, defeated.

“When do you want the answer to this all-important question?” He demanded.

“That’s the kicker,” Charlie answered. “The answer isn’t for me.”

Click.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas return to the B&B. Angst and smut. Sam recovers in Peterborough, and finds a possible clue with some help from Byrony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's what you've all been waiting for: at least partially. >=) Thanks for all your comments.

About an hour later, Dean rolled the Impala back up the endless hill to the B&B. They were supposed to interview the owner of the museum, but all Dean wanted was his bed and some fucking quiet. Time to himself.

The ride back had been tense. Cas had sat beside him, inhumanly still, the flick of his eyelashes barely visible when he blinked. Dean’s stomach sank, filled with greasy burger and guilt. He should never have allowed things to go this far. Everything was so awkward now.

And yet, beneath the strained, still silence, Dean could feel the longing on his skin. Pricking his awareness. The scant inches between his thigh and Cas’. He found himself swerving Baby a little, wondering if it would tilt him closer. The angel didn’t budge. Finally, Dean pulled into the parking spot.

“Do you wanna go talk to the owner?” He asked, his green eyes examining the steering wheel.

“Not particularly,” Cas rumbled, and Dean glanced up, startled.

He caught a glimpse of humor and heat in Cas’ crystalline eyes. He swallowed dryly.

“We probably should,” Dean continued, fingers tightening on the hard leather.

“Indeed,” Cas answered this time his breath tickling on Dean’s ear.

Dean gasped narrowly, his chest suddenly limited or the air thin. His heart was thudding along in his chest. Somewhere, he knew that the engine was cooling, and he should feel cold emanating from the steering wheel. Strangely, he felt like he was burning up, flickers of pure sensation echoing up his arms.

The muscles of his thigh suddenly seized as Cas lightly set his hand down. Each finger lay casually as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Dean stared at Cas’ hand, fixated.  _ Holy shit _ , he thought. The hand remained still. Not pressing or caressing, just resting. On Dean’s thigh.

Everywhere on his body was going insane. His brain was on acid or something. It felt like tiny fireworks were exploding just beneath his skin. How could just that one touch feel so fucking good?

Dean held his breath and waited for that hateful voice. The one that liked to stroll around his head in times like this. It seemed to be on lunch break. He exhaled slowly, carefully, willing his body to stay completely, totally still. Muscles relaxed. He spent a moment working up his courage, arguing with himself. His mouth was parched.

There was a soft rustle next to him. A sigh.

“Dean,” the familiar voice rumbled low, vibrating against his ear.

He couldn’t fight the moan that escaped in reply.

“Perhaps,” Cas continued, “We should finish this conversation upstairs?”

Dean’s body was halfway out of the car before the sentence was finished. His hands were damp, clammy, and his cock was screaming,  _ yes, yes _ !

Long minutes passed as they hustled in, through the door, temporarily bogged down by a giggling group of teenagers that had lingered to pester Janice at the desk. They eyed Dean and Cas and gave each other puzzled expressions, shrugging and rolling their shoulders dramatically. 

Then the two were finally swinging through the next door, hoofing it, stairs disappearing rapidly beneath their pounding soles. Back to the last bedroom.

The door had barely slammed shut when Cas rounded on him, blue eyes wide, shoulders bulked into a commanding stance.

“I want you just the way you were before,” Cas commanded.

The rough wooden floor met Dean’s knees with a rough kiss, his mossy green eyes fixed longingly on Cas. His muscled chest was heaving rapidly, straining the fabric of his shirt with every inhale. Cas stepped closer, took a handful, tore the shirt off in one motion. Dean moaned shamelessly, rubbing his face against the fabric of Cas’ pants.

With a growl, Cas ripped the belt off his own waist, shoving his pants down. His cock rebounded, the slick head coming to rest before Dean’s eyes. Before Dean could think, Cas was pushing the back of his head, shoving him into his groin. Dean responded by licking everything he could, his tongue tingling. The flavor of Cas’ skin, like rain, assaulted him.

The head of Cas’ cock pressed lightly on Dean’s lips, and he opened. Oh, it tasted so sweet. So hot, so firm and thick and heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t get enough. His eyes squeezed shut, he allowed his mouth to open wide, wide. The cock slid into his mouth, over his tongue, bluntly hitting the back of his throat and there was still more.

The fist in his hair propelled him inexorably forward, so Dean inhaled, unhinged his jaw and let it in. An airless feeling of bliss struck him. This was so different than what he had imagined, and yet, so very right. So very good, Cas filling his mouth, panting and moaning above him.

Just when he thought his lungs would burst, Cas slid back, Dean’s lips dragging along the soaked sides of his cock. A brief gasp of air and it was back, filling his mouth, into his throat again. His knees rubbed roughly into the carpet, the skin of his chest sensitive, flushed and heated against Cas’ thighs.

And again. Thrust, gulp, release, the firm hand guiding him every step of the way. The other hand weighty, possessive on his shoulder. Cas was moaning his breath hitching. Cas’ skin was impossibly hot, feverish, as Dean raised a hand to stroke the shaft of the angel’s cock.

A guttural cry. Cas’ voice, broken. “Dean!”

Two hands now in his hair, forcing his mouth back and forth rapidly, cupping his jaw, cradling his cheeks. Cas was using him, plundering his mouth, and it was good. God! so much better than his mind had conjured, to be there, open, waiting, his mouth ready for Cas. Pleasure spiraling through Dean’s body, up from his throbbing groin to his thundering heart. The sound of Cas moaning his name had him achingly hard, tenting the fabric of his slacks.

The angel grabbed him hard, calling out, babbling in Enochian as he began to pull away. Dean clung to him, wildly grasping the cheeks of his ass, feeling the flesh move under his nails. He wanted it all, he wanted to feel Cas break into a million pieces.

The massive, muscular thighs beneath his face twitched, rocked. The hands scrabbled against Dean’s head as his mouth was suddenly filled with torrents of warm, sticky thickness. He swallowed, drank it down, guzzled eagerly. Another burst followed, his nose rubbing close to Cas’ body, the sweet rain smell in his lungs.

And as the hands in his hair finally relaxed, Dean pulled away, licking his lips. His angel was smiling down at him, face flushed, eyes a brilliant blue. He knelt, and Dean found himself face-to-face with Cas, feeling that supple mouth capture his. Strong hands passed over him, molding him into Cas, those arms surrounding him.

“So good,” Cas breathed, his voice trembling in Dean’s ear.

His fingers found their way into Dean’s slacks and boxers, to find Dean’s hardened cock begging for attention. Gently, firmly, Cas wrapped his fingers around the shaft, allowing the skin of his palm to drag on the oversensitive glans.

“So good, Dean,” Cas gasped raggedly, his hand already picking up speed.

Dean’s bottle-green eyes rolled back, he let his head loll against Cas.

“I want you, Dean,” the deep voice rumbled, and Dean’s heart jumped.

Cas leaned closer, his mouth millimeters from Dean’s. 

“I want you”-- the voice paused as Cas shifted until his mouth was against Dean’s ear, his dark stubble raking across Dean’s face. “I want you to cum.”

Dean’s eyes slammed shut in response, his spine arched. A bolt of lust raced down his spine, his lungs spasming. Every muscle in his body simultaneously tightened, spiraling higher and higher. His breath was ragged, a deep, rumbling moan echoing from his lips. His head was tilted back, thickly muscled neck exposed, hands grasping Cas tight. The orgasm rocked him, overcame him, sent him swirling into multicolored bliss.  He came in bursts, covering Cas’ palm with his cum.

A moment passed, Dean’s breath finally slowing, the inhale and exhale of his ribs echoed by the movement of Cas’ chest.

“Holy shit,” Dean gasped from his cocoon in Cas’ arms.

“Yeah,” Cas rasped.

Dean grinned. “That was fuckin’ amazing.”

Cas tensed slightly, readjusting Dean so he could look into those grassy eyes. 

“Indeed,” he agreed solemnly.

Dean smirked back, muscles loose like a leopard’s after a hunt. Something distant, akin to content, flickered briefly on his face. Cas’ lips twitched, already hungry for more. But Dean pulled away, placing his hands firmly on the floor and standing up.

“Gotta gets moving, Cas,” he said gently, offering his hand.

Cas took it, palm fitting its familiar place in the crook of Dean’s elbow as he was helped up. They shared a moment, their foreheads almost pressed; an exchange of breath. Cas bit his lip.

Dean was the first to move, hand coming to rest on Cas’ shoulder. Familiar, almost rough, this gesture. Usually accompanied by swaggering, drawling voice, those hated words: Buddy, pal. But something held Cas fast. Dean’s fingers tugged lightly, and Cas sensed something in the air, words perhaps, unspoken.

Dean’s eyes met his, star-flecked pools.

“We have to finish this,” Dean husked. Whether he was referring to the case or their moment together, neither knew.

Cas nodded, mute. 

It was then that Dean nodded back, squared his jaw, and finally turned, just slow enough for Cas to see when the invisible armor slid back into place. As it did, the new, and yet familiar ache seeped into Cas, finding its place just beneath the sternum, spreading slow numbness into his veins.

* * *

 

After two bouts of napping, Sam was getting restless. He fiddled with the remote and found a good setting for the bed. Drank all the water but felt guilty about asking for more. It was getting toward evening, but dinner hadn’t been served yet, and Sam was fervently hoping that it would be better than the styrofoam box that was tossed hurriedly on his tray for lunch. 

He had opened it to find two bedraggled halves of coarse-grained bread (evidently made from sawdust), placed completely dry on what Sam had cautiously identified as some variation of processed lunch meat. A stiff, shiny, yellow square that seemed mainly derived from recycled plastic but smelled vaguely of cheese had completed the meal. On the side, a battered and wizened apple sat forlornly, but Sam hadn’t been able to stomach even that.

The clatter of heavy steel rolling down the hall made Sam sigh in longing. Dinner was here, and maybe it would even be edible. The sounds outside were picking up as doors opened and closed. The very air began to hum and bustle with action. Impatient residents began pressing their call bells or yelling for the CNAs to hurry it up, dammit. 

Sam felt bad for the group who were serving the trays. It must be a hassle to keep everyone’s preferences in mind while dealing with the constant complaints. Just as that thought entered his mind, his door swung open. A skinny, dark-skinned woman wearing navy scrubs placed the tray on his table and swung it close to Sam, her brown eyes avoiding contact.

“Hi,” he greeted.

She stiffened, eyeing him narrowly. “You need me to open any of this?”

“Um, no,” Sam answered. “My name’s Sam.”

“That’s what it says on your door,” she retorted. “Tonight we have Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, a roll, and greens.”

“Sounds good.” Sam attempted. “Thanks.”

“Lemme know if you need anything,” she answered shortly and left.

Huh. Sam sat back a little. Maybe he shouldn’t have felt bad. That chick was kind of a bitch. This meal had come on an actual plate with a domed lid. That might be a hopeful sign. He lifted the lid and was immediately assaulted by an eye-watering smell. Gah. Guess someone liked pepper.

The plate was overcrowded. Most of it was taken up by what Sam guessed was meant to be Salisbury steak but looked like a patty of hamburger drowned in thick, greasy, tan-colored gravy. A bowl was perched to one side, containing some murky thatch that may or may not have been collard greens. The mashed potatoes smelled and looked exactly like white play-dough. Experimentally, Sam picked up the roll. It felt heavy. It took two hands and some pretty serious effort to rip it in half. Stale.

Groaning, Sam pushed it aside. This was torture. He had rested enough. He was going to get out of here and get some food. He sat up and hung his feet over the side of the bed and a sudden dizziness hit him. Swaying, he sat back.

“Whoah, there,” a friendly voice called, tapping on the door frame.

Sam looked up. Byrony was standing there, one hip cocked, her hair pulled up into multiple purple-black ponytails. She had changed out of her scrubs and was wearing a lilac tee that strained in all the right places. Her studded leather belt held up black and purple camo pants.

Sam blushed furiously, pulling his long legs back under the covers. The horrifying thought that Byrony had just seen him in nothing but a hospital gown settled unpleasantly in his stomach. He stammered a greeting, gesturing her in.

“I figured you wouldn’t be able to stand the food here,” she said, smiling radiantly and waving a paper bag. “I brought something for you.”

With a booted heel, she brought the table closer, setting the paper bag down and moving his tray away. She set her black backpack down and sat heavily on a chair, greeting his look with a wink.

“Don’t worry, Sam, I don’t mind seeing people in gowns. It’s pretty much my job, remember?”

Sam found himself smiling back shyly. “Thanks, Byrony.”

He opened the paper bag, finding two giant plastic containers with frosted lids. He looked up questioningly, finding no answers in her amber eyes.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Open it and find out,” she answered, rubbing her hands together gleefully.

He lifted each one and set one in front of her, then opened the other. A gorgeous arrangement of salad leaves, shaved almonds, and grilled chicken was nestled in a warm sesame dressing.

“Wow,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “I hope you like Asian chicken. I wasn’t sure, but you seem like the healthy eating type to me.”

“Yeah,” He grinned.

Byrony walked over to his discarded tray, clucking her tongue in disgust. “Salsbury steak. I hate this one. It’s almost as gross as the fish.”

“They serve fish?” Sam shuddered.

Byrony’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Yup. It’s terrible.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed, then tried a bite of his salad. “This is great!”

Byrony threw him a wink. “I must really like you if I cook for you.”

The silence stretched as they ate. Sam shifted slightly, took a breath.

“Do you?” He asked hesitantly. “Like me?”

Byrony rolled her hazel eyes. “Well, duh. I don’t cook for just anyone. In fact, I don’t cook, pretty much  _ ever _ .”

Sam paused as this sank in. “Wow.”

“In fact,” Byrony continued, leaning a little forward so he caught a quick glimpse of her chest tattoo, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me. You know, so I don’t have to cook again.”

“Yes!” Sam answered, almost choking in his haste.

“Easy there, tiger,” Byrony giggled. 

She reached out to gently rest her copper fingers on his. Her touch was gentle, firm. Not assumptive or possessive, merely inquiring. Gulping against nerves, Sam wove his fingers around hers carefully, feeling how her palm fit naturally into his.

Byrony tilted her head, her hair moving around her face in black and purple streamers. Her hazel-gold eyes held Sam’s as she tightened the hold, moving closer to him. Her chest was leaning slightly on the table, and Sam could hear her breathing. Her breasts were shifting in his peripheral vision, but he found himself pulled into that magnetic gaze instead. Her plump lips curved slightly as she shifted again, leaning forward.

Without thinking, Sam moved too, using his other hand to cup her cheek. Her skin was incredibly, unbelievably soft beneath his touch, and she rocked into it. She was warm, the coppery skin turning slightly pink as he slid his hand closer to her ear. His fingers cupped the curve of her skull, her hair sliding like silk between them. A frisson of pleasure was beginning to run down his arms, and Sam gently pulled, wanting to taste her lips.

Suddenly, something icy and incredibly wet dumped into his lap, and he pulled away quickly.

“Shit!” He yelled, looking down.

Byrony followed his glance and collapsed into helpless giggles as Sam grabbed his napkin, sopping up the water he had just tipped over.

“Sorry,” she gasped, obviously entertained. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

A blush raged up Sam’s neck, but he couldn’t help smiling as Byrony darted out the door, her infectious laugh following behind.

She came back, threw one towel at him and used another to mop up the little that had ended up on the floor. 

“I gotta call Housekeeping,” she grumbled from the floor, only the purple tips of her hair visible. “This floor is filthy. Where the hell did this sand come from, anyway?”

“Sand?” Sam sat up straight on the bed. “Like beach sand?”

She glanced up. “I know, right? Weird.”

“I need to call Dean,” he decided, swinging his legs to hang over the bed.

“Whoah, there,” Byrony cautioned. “You have spent all day laying down after being stung by an assload of bees. You are gonna feel dizzy, especially after all the Benadryl we pumped into you.”

She paused. “Actually, I am kind of surprised how awake you are. Maybe your size makes it easier for you to metabolize the meds.”

“I feel fine,” he blustered, pushing his hips forward so his feet landed flat on the floor.

Byrony was there, her hands firm on his hips, her feet squarely bracketing his.

“I said, be careful,” she scolded. “If you fall, I get fired. And then what?”

“Then you can come on an adventure with me,” Sam answered without thinking.

“Really?” She asked, tilting her oval face up.

Sam lost himself in those honey-gold, tilted eyes. The soft, dark skin of her arms, warm next to his waist. The silken shine of her hair, falling in purple-black waves. She was so sweet, the curve of her lip curling like his happiness was the greatest thing she had ever been offered. She was here, and even though they had only known each other a few days, he knew he wanted her. Wanted to know every angle, every side. Every layer of her crazy, open-throttle mind.

He lowered his head slightly, glanced to her lips. She leaned against him, her breasts pressing softly into his chest. With a subtle movement, she had linked her hands around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

Sam cradled her face with his hands, feeling the sharp edges of her cheekbones beneath the pads of his fingers. Slowly, carefully, he began to suck on her lips, feeling the texture give beneath his mouth. She swayed into him tighter, knotting her hands into his hair. He opened his mouth in response, taking his time to explore the warm caverns of her mouth with his tongue. 

She sighed into his mouth, tipping her head to give him full access, sucking and massaging his tongue with hers. Her gorgeous neck was curved back, and Sam took advantage of the angle, moving to feather light, sensuous kisses down to her collar bone. Byrony gasped and pulled him back to her mouth, licking and nipping his lips energetically.

There was a perfunctory rap on the door, and Byrony tore herself loose, one of her ponytails sliding halfway out of its holder. 

“Yes?” Sam asked, seating himself on the bed.

The door swung open, and one of the nurses poked her head in. 

“Just wanted to say that the doctor is about to make rounds,” she announced kindly.

“Thanks, Elizabeth,” Byrony replied, twisting the ponytail back into its normal position.

“No problem,” Elizabeth answered, already moving away.

“I hope I didn’t just get you in trouble,” worried Sam.

“Nah, just upped my street cred,” Byrony retorted, winking. “Hey, I know you have to go back up tomorrow, I don’t have to work again for a couple days. Would it be weird for me to come back and hang out?”

“With me?” Sam asked, surprised and thrilled.

“Well I mean, I’m not gonna stay in your room or whatever, perv,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Honestly.”

“I’d be honored,” he stammered. “I mean, I would love a visit. I mean…”

“Yes?” She smiled, her nose crinkling.

“Yes.” Sam decided. Dean could deal. She wouldn’t be there every second, and her inside knowledge of the town might help the case. It’d be fine.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas interview the owner of the museum building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about half story line and half smut. There is some stuff that could be considered non-con, I will mark it with asterix. * As always, I love your comments and kudos.

Baby looked right at home in the evening sun sitting in front of the split-level house owned by the family that also owned the museum. This neighborhood was pretty swank, with newly-paved roads, sidewalks, and even a park nearby. The olive-colored house sat back a bit, shielded from the street by old pines and well-kept shrubs. On the right side, there was an extra paved area for cars, which Dean took advantage of.

Cas followed him up the brick steps. Although some of the tension had worn off, a low hum seemed to run between them. They talked about the case, about Sam, but that was it. There was a shitstorm a-brewin, but Dean shoved it back. If they didn’t focus, the case wouldn’t get solved, and another innocent person would die. It was time to buckle down.

The front door was glass, letting the last of the sunlight stream straight into the house. Dean could see a tabby cat laying on the plush carpet. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

After a moment, a woman came to the door and unlocked it, smiling broadly. She was elderly, but not frail. She stood with her back ramrod straight, her long, silver hair piled elegantly on her head in a bun. Her brown eyes regarded Dean and Cas with a spark of humor.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” She greeted, drying her hands on the apron around her waist. Dean noticed the soft but eloquent drawl of Virginia in her words.

“We’re from the FBI,” Dean explained. He flashed his badge, mirrored by Cas. “We wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Oh, my,” the woman replied, gesturing to a sitting room to their right. “Please, do be seated.”

Dean chose a straight-backed wing chair with doilies on the arms because it was the least fruity piece of furniture in the room. Cas, oblivious, sat on the rose-colored couch, his muscular body taking up about half the seat.

“May I get you gentlemen something?” the woman asked.

“No thank you, ma’am,” Dean answered.

“My friends call me Melanie,” she said, coming to seat herself delicately in the remaining wing chair. “What can I do for you today?”

“We are here investigating the theft of some coins from the museum you own,” Cas began.

“Own?” She gave a low chuckle. “We own the building, dear. The museum itself belongs to the town.”

“Our apologies, ma’am,” Cas answered.

“Anyway, we were wondering what you could tell us,” Dean continued. “Anything about the building or the collection itself. Even the smallest detail could be very useful.”

“Well, that is a story,” Melanie said, smiling. “And stories require tea. Will you gentlemen follow me?”

Seeing no other choice, they followed her into the kitchen. Bright and airy, with white-painted cupboards and large windows, it reminded Dean of the kitchens owned by wealthy landowners in the South. He and Cas found themselves seated at a chestnut wooden table, holding fragile cups in their hands.

Melanie bustled around, setting out a plate with peanut butter sandwich triangles (crust cut off), a bowl of strawberries, and chocolate chip cookies. She insisted they pile their plates, and then she brought the teapot, settling down in a chair as it began to steep.

“That building used to belong to my great-grandfather,” she began. “My family has always lived in Virginia, but my great-grandfather believed in owning land. He bought this before I was born and gave it to my grandparents as a wedding gift. My mother inherited it in the same fashion. Of course, I am planning on giving it to my son, because I have no daughters.”

“You have a son?” Dean was curious. “Does he live here?”

“Indeed, and you may meet him, but that is another story,” she answered patiently. “To return to your question, after I got married, my husband got a job as a school teacher in New Hampshire, so I moved with him. The museum building wasn’t always a museum. In fact, at that time, it was a defunct cattle barn.”

“That sounds familiar,” Dean mused. “Did we read that somewhere?”

“You mentioned that where we are staying used to be part of it,” Cas pointed out.

“You must be at the B&B,” Melanie commented. “How is poor Janice nowadays?”

“That’s difficult to ascertain,” Cas answered. Dean shot him a warning look, but Melanie laughed.

“It always is with her,” she agreed. “To continue my story, the building remained defunct for many years. My husband’s passion was teaching; he wanted to share ancient history with the children of this town. It was only after he retired that he had the idea to build a museum.”

“So it was his idea,” Dean noted.

“Indeed,” Melanie answered. “My husband was never a layabout. Always moving, wanting to do something, learn something. He convinced the town leaders to turn our old barn into a museum so that everyone could see his collection.”

“The collection is his?” Cas clarified.

“Not all of it, no,” Melanie corrected. “Some of it was quite delicate; got lost here and there. But some of his old things still remain there. I see it as a testament to what a great man he really was.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dean said kindly.

“Don’t be,” Melanie answered sweetly. “He was a kind, wonderful husband who lived a full life and left his mark on the world. He’d be proud to see his legacy now.”

There was a small silence.

“May I ask if you know which parts of the collection used to belong to your husband?” Cas’ voice was low and respectful.

Dean glanced over, surprised. Was that sympathy?

“Well, I don’t know the full extent,” Melanie answered, “But I do know that manuscript was his. He showed that to me when we first met. It’s partly how we fell in love.”

Dean smiled.

“But that’s a story for another time,” Melanie continued. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Just one,” Dean answered. “What can you tell us about that manuscript?”

“My husband told me that it’s been in his family for generations, even before they came over to America.”

“That’s fascinating,” Cas commented, leaning in. “Do you have any ideas of where your husband’s ancestors came from originally?”

“Perhaps Italy?” Melanie guessed. “He was a bit unclear on that.”

“It must have been very precious for his family to carry on the dangerous journey to America,” Cas mused.

“Oh, it was,” Melanie answered proudly. “Even then it was very old. The manuscript tells a story, and as my husband always used to say, stories are our treasures.”

“That’s quite interesting,” Dean said, but his mind was elsewhere.

“I can see you don’t believe me, young man,” Melanie scolded, but her voice was kind. “Sometimes in the fire of our youth, we rush to hasty decisions. But only the real, the heartfelt things, are permanent.”

“Thank you for your advice,” Cas intoned solemnly. 

“And your time,” Dean added. “You’ve been quite helpful.”

“You’re welcome, gentlemen,” Melanie said, rising to show them to the door. “Feel free to return if you’d like another story.”

As Dean and Cas made their way back down the walkway into the gathering twilight, a kid came racing through the yard, the tails of his open sweatshirt waving behind him.

“That’s the kid!” Dean bellowed, already running.

Dean pelted down the walk, dodged around a bush, and felt the thin fabric slide right through his fingers---

\--As a squeal of tires and blaring horn crashed into his consciousness.

“Dean!” Cas’ voice boomed as he slammed into place, one palm splayed on Dean’s chest, the other outstretched.

Over Cas’ trenchcoated shoulder, a black SUV came into view. Dean’s mouth dropped open as the breath he even didn’t know he had been holding exploded from his chest.

A door slammed, and Detective Kevin bowled out, chest heaving, thick black hair struggling at his collar.

“What the hell are you doing here?!?” He bellowed, coming to a sudden stop just beyond Cas’ hand.

“Did you almost...hit me?” Dean asked, rage beginning to build. “With  _ that _ sad excuse for a penis compensation?”

Kevin sputtered, the veins in his neck beginning to strain. Cas was suddenly, alarmingly aware the man’s eyes were green, similar to Dean’s. Below his thick, black eyebrows, they almost glowed. The bizarre familiarity made Cas’ stomach turn slightly.

“You almost killed him,” Cas growled, struggling hard to contain his grace.

Kevin stepped back, his chest still puffed high but his eyes darting sideways. 

“I didn’t see you,” he said defensively. 

Then, regaining his earlier bravado: “Why are you at my mother’s house?”

Dean choked back a laugh as Cas lowered his hand slowly. 

“That’s your  _ mother _ ?” The hunter gasped. “Wow.”

“What are you doing here?” Kevin demanded. “After I specifically asked you to stay away from the murders?”

“You asked for our help--” Dean retorted, pushing past Cas.

“I told you to stay away from the people in my town!” Kevin shouted. “My own mother? How could you?!? I wanted to be the one to tell her about Jen!”

“Tony!” A firm voice broke in.

Dean snuck a glance behind them. Melanie was standing stock still, her chin square and defiant.

“Tell me what?” Melanie asked, pinning them all with her icy gaze.

Kevin deflated, sighed. 

“This is obviously a private discussion,” Dean noted, backing off. 

Mother and son nodded distantly as he and Cas wandered off. Dean barely held his tongue until they were safely sitting in Baby’s seat.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter. 

“Can you believe that asshole?” He chortled, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

“That was quite unnerving,” Cas noted. “I was concerned he would hit you.”

“He almost did!” Dean gasped.

“I’m failing to see the humor here,” Cas rumbled. “I would have smote him where he stood. A potentially innocent (although annoying) human could have died.”

“He would have deserved it,” Dean retorted, throwing Cas a wink. “Besides, he didn’t. He got yelled at by his  _ mom _ instead.”

Dean rolled his head back, allowing the laughter to tip out and bounce around the interior of the Impala.

“Dude,” he said finally, looking at Cas, “You are awesome.”

Things seemed to be cooling down between the Detective and his mother, so Dean stepped back out of the Impala. Might as well try to smooth things over; he couldn’t move Baby until that douchebag moved the SUV anyway. Both Detective Kevin and Melanie were standing slumped-shouldered, about five feet apart. Melanie was hugging herself, her perfect posture slightly bowed. Kevin was eyeing the ground glumly, his expression clouded.

“Sorry about the confusion,” Dean began, wishing to be anywhere but here.

Melanie straightened her back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“You gentlemen have little to apologize for,” she stated. “My son is the one that could have seriously harmed you with his vehicle.”

“I should have been more careful,” Kevin muttered. He received a glare from his mother, straightened up, and cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

Dean took the offered hand and shook it. 

“You weren’t expecting me to dart out in front of you,” he pointed out generously. “We’re both at fault.”

“Now that we’ve cleared that up,” Melanie interjected, “May I please inquire as to why you two gentlemen did not inform me that my employee had been murdered?” 

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably, but to his surprise, Cas intervened.

“Usually, it is the local police who decide when to inform family, friends, and employers about deaths,” he intoned. “We didn’t wish to infringe on your son’s authority here.”

Dean spared a glance sideways. Whether that was true or not, Cas had delivered the answer coolly and firmly with just the right amount of authority. He was definitely getting better at working with civilians.

“I see,” Melanie answered, collecting herself. “Well, I thank you, gentlemen for your concern, but my son and I need to continue our discussion.”

Kevin wilted slightly but made no comment.

“I am hopeful our next encounter will be more pleasant,” Melanie continued, offering her hand.

“We hope so too, ma’am,” Dean answered, shaking Melanie’s hand.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Cas intoned, taking her hand next.

The two moved back to the Impala and waited a moment for the Detective to move the SUV so they could leave.

“That was awkward,” Dean intoned, backing out.

“Indeed,” Cas agreed. “Perhaps we need to give the Detective a bit of space.”

“Sammy’s headed back tomorrow morning,” Dean nodded. “Not much more we can do tonight anyway, now that it’s dark. Let’s grab a bite.”

“Some food would be pleasant,” Cas remarked. “But I was looking forward to spending more time with you.”

There was a beat of silence, then Dean turned his head to glance over at Cas. The angel’s face was expressionless as he gazed out the window at passing traffic.

“If we went out to the diner, you’d be with me,” Dean pointed out carefully.

“I’m assuming the citizens of the diner would not welcome a first-row seat of us copulating,” Cas noted, cool as you please.

Dean spluttered. “That’s assuming quite a bit!”

“Is it?” Cas asked, finally turning to face Dean, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah!” Dean exploded. “You’re assuming I would be into…  _ that _ .”

“You wouldn’t?” the angel asked, voice infuriatingly even.

“Referring to it as ‘copulation’ definitely doesn’t help matters!” Dean burst out, blindly speeding down the road. 

Stupid angel. Dean’s face was heating up and Cas was just sitting there, not even smiling, like a friggin robot.

“Is there a word you’d prefer I use?” Cas asked, pinning Dean with his gaze.

“I dunno, dude!” Dean slammed his hands down on the steering wheel, the leather burning his palms. “I don’t even know if I  _ want _ to do that! And you being all weird makes it worse!”

There was a pause as Dean huffed out a frustrated breath, slowing down for a light.

“I apologize if my demeanor is unsettling,” Cas began.

“What the hell, dude?” Dean swung around. “You can’t even say sorry like a normal person.”

“Dean--” Cas began.

“Just shut up,” Dean fumed.

The moments stretched out tensely, the icy environment outside suddenly seeming to invade Baby’s interior. Silence filled the cab as Dean pushed Baby up the hill and slammed her into the parking space. He was so furious, he didn’t even spare her a glance as he got out and started toward the front door.

Cas was behind him, of course, always there. The fucking ever-vigilant Angel, guarding his back whether he wanted it or not.  _ And who the hell had asked him to do that? _ , Dean found himself wondering.  _ Why is he always around? Has he just not figured it out yet? _

Ah, there it was. The angry, spiteful voice was back, and it was so loud it was clouding his vision now. Dean shouldered through the office, ignorant of a few townspeople that had gathered around the desk to chat with Janice. The door to the stairs gave way easily to his stride. His feet were echoing rapidly on the steps, his breath chugging out. All this went ignored.

Inside his mind, the voice was writhing around, creating that squirming, oily pit of nausea.  _ You are worthless _ , it said.  _ That is an angel, and you are a dirty human. You are below a human. The things you’ve done, the damage to your soul! You are disgusting! You blacken him by your very existence. You don’t deserve to breathe his air. _

“Fuck,” Dean whispered, finally reaching his room.

“Dean,” Cas intoned, reaching out.

“Cas--” Dean’s voice was strangled, harsh. “Not now.”

“Yes, now,” Cas insisted, muscling through the door. “We need to talk about this.”

_ Why do you keep up this horrible charade? _ , The voice asked, extending silky tendrils through his gut.  _ He doesn’t want you. It’s impossible. He’s just doing this as some kind of joke. Some kind of ploy. _

“No,” Dean huffed, working his face with his hands, willing it away.

“Yes,” Cas answered, standing patiently, eyes faintly glowing.

_ You destroy everything you touch _ , it insisted. You know this.  _ If you touch him, you will bring him down into the filth. Tarnish those beautiful blue eyes. Ruin those gorgeous wings! _

“Cas,” Dean ground out, his jaw locked, “please.”

“I won’t leave,” Cas answered evenly. “This is too important to me. To us.”

_ What are you going to do, boy?!? _ John Winchester screamed from inside his skull.  _ Let another man touch your body, like a goddamn fairy? _

“No!” Dean’s voice was hoarse, straining.

“Please, Dean. I know you have feelings for me.” Cas’ brilliant, arctic eyes were pleading, but Dean turned away.

“Fuck you, Cas!” He said flatly, dismissively.

“Fine!” Cas growled.

**********

A rush of air and Dean’s back slammed into the wall. Cas held him there effortlessly, his fists balled into Dean’s shirt. Fire and holy wrath spat mercilessly from his eyes as Cas charged in hard, pinning Dean back, mouth hot on his. Dean’s tongue fought back, seeking every last corner to claim. But Cas pressed closer, one hand leaving Dean’s shirt and tangling into his hair, forcing his head down for easy access. 

Dean’s heart thudded erratically as Cas began to sink his teeth into Dean’s lip. His breath slid out in shallow gasps, his eyes slid tightly shut.

It was incredibly, unreasonably, insanely hot. Whatever resistance Dean had propped up, it was destroyed by the instant storm of bliss released by Cas. He let go, feeling his body and reservations relax as Cas held him fast to the wall, ravishing his neck with fervor. Sharp teeth snicked, leaving marks chased by hot pleasure running up Dean’s spine as Cas’ mouth moved lower. With a furious noise, Cas pulled Dean’s shirt open as his mouth worked the freckled surfaces.

“I am so-”- bite - “- _ sick _ -”-bite- “of denying this!!” Cas roared, hands grasping hard, claiming Dean’s abdomen, chest, arms with broad, rough, searing strokes. “I will not wait another moment, Dean. You are  _ mine _ .”

Dean allowed his eyes to slide open and was rewarded with the view of his angel, lips sinfully wrapped around a nipple, eyes glowing iridescent blue with intent. A sting of teeth, and Dean’s head fell against the wall as he bit back a moan, every part of his body thrumming with insistent need.

Cas’ hands were on him, rough, manhandling, but oh so good, one thrusting Dean’s shoulder to the wall. The other hand suddenly found Dean’s buckle, and Dean found himself biting his lip, insane hope running wild in his mind.  _ Would he do it? _ Dean fervently wished Cas would unsnap that buckle. Somewhere in the hidden corner of his mind, John Winchester was railing against him, but whatever he was saying was drowned out by Dean’s own ragged breathing and rapid heartbeat.

With one supple movement, Cas unfastened and slid the belt swiftly through the loops, throwing it over his shoulder. Dean let out a soft moan as Cas’ hand roamed under his waistband. God, he had fantasized about this. He had wanted it so bad, and now it was happening. 

Cas’ mouth hard on his skin, bruising and teeth nipping. His right hand, those powerful fingers on Dean’s shoulder, keeping him immobile as the other hand slid further down. Dean’s mouth hung open, panting, as he felt Cas come closer and closer to his cock.  His skin was tight, feverish, his cock straining to be loose. A quick brush over sensitive skin and Cas’ hand was gone. Dean fought a whimper.

“What?!” Cas demanded, his deep voice dropping to threatening register. “What did you say to me?”

Dean stammered, completely blind to everything but the pull of his desire. His shoulder throbbed where Cas’ hand still held him to the wall like an iron shackle. His hips and cock were thrusting, seeking friction. He lowered his mouth toward Cas, longing for a taste.

“NO!” Cas growled, pulling away but leaving the hand that kept Dean in his place. “I asked you a question. What. Did you say to me. Just now.”

Dean cast around wildly for the answer. Finally, his mind cleared enough for him to review their heated conversation. Over the continued pound of his heart, his throat raw from fighting back moans, he answered. 

“I said, ‘Fuck you, Cas.’”

A furious light gleamed in the angel’s eyes, and he grasped Dean’s hair roughly, pulling him down. Their lips locked, scalding, in something more akin to biting than a kiss.

“That is incorrect,” Cas said evenly when he pulled back, his hand plunging down to rest firmly on Dean’s cock. 

Dean’s mind went blank, his eyes rolling up in absolute pleasure, a string of profanity on his lips. Pulses of heat and electricity ran through his muscles, building and spiraling. He thrust into the angel’s palm, but Cas pulled his hand away, causing Dean to release a low whine in protest.

“The correct response,” Cas explained, his voice still low and even, thrumming deeply into Dean’s chest, “Is fuck  _ me _ , Cas.”

There was a rending noise, and Dean’s pants fell to the floor in a shambles. Before he could mourn their loss, Dean was face-down into the mattress, both wrists held together by Cas’ hand at the base of his spine. The air greeted the newly-revealed skin of his ass, his boxers having found their end with the rest. 

Despite a fresh kick of nerves, Dean gasped at the feel of Cas’ breath on his neck as he leaned forward. Dean’s cock was throbbing hard, pressed into the mattress. There was a sudden sting as Cas landed a smack across Dean’s upraised ass. Shame and lust rushed in, causing Dean to squirm uselessly against the bed.

“I am sure,” Cas rumbled, pulling away until only the roughness of his clothed crotch was in contact with Dean’s feverish skin, “That you will remember the correct way to speak.”

Dean couldn’t help but moan, thrusting back, seeking friction.

“No,” Cas chided and stepped away, the only contact his hand on Dean’s wrists.

The position was maddening. Dean’s cock was heavy, full, screaming for release. His ass hung helpless in the air, skin still tingling from the sharp contact of Cas’ hand. He bucked, but couldn’t get any closer to Cas. Dean dug his face into the mattress to hide his blush.

“Please,” he whispered, somehow both ashamed and wildly turned on.

“What?” Cas questioned, pressing harder on Dean’s wrists.

Dean struggled, but it was useless. 

“Please, Cas,” he allowed a small whine to escape.

He felt a hand still his hips, position his ass higher in the air. 

“Please, Cas,” the angel repeated slowly, intently, drawing his fingernails sharply down Dean’s skin. “Please  _ what _ ?”

Dean groaned, his heated face making it impossible for him to bury himself into the mattress anymore. He gasped for breath with every slow rake of nails on his flesh. He could feel his skin raising into furrows and wheals at the angel’s touch. The sensation was maddening, stripping hot pleasure from every nerve ending and sending it directly to his cock. If he didn’t cum soon, he was going to go insane. 

“Please,” Dean panted, cock straining.

“Yes, Dean?” the gravel voice answered, hand pausing at the curve of Dean’s ass.

“Please, Cas,” was all Dean could manage, gasping.

Another sharp snap of that hand to Dean’s ass, the sting making him hiss and moan. His mind was awhirl with color, fireworks of lust running in his veins, making his cock full, heavy. Dean struggled against the sheets, his cock trapped close to his stomach, precum making it slick but not enough to orgasm. The need was clawing, raw inside his body, his mind blissfully, totally blank. All that existed was this moment, and Cas, and the fact that he could cum if he just gave in.

********************

“Please,” Dean ground out. “Fuck me, Cas.”

An instant, a breath, and then those fingers were on him, encircling his cock and making the pressure sweet agony. He thrust into Cas’ hand, humping it hard, eager and chasing the orgasm. But only minutes went by before the fingers were removed cruelly. Dean ground out a cry of frustration. 

Another moment passed, and then he felt the hand glide down the cheeks of his ass. Dean thrust up blindly, nothing more on his mind than the release. His cock rubbed uselessly against the mattress as those fingers grabbed the heated flesh of his ass and massaged it over and over. Every few breaths were punctuated by the sting of Cas’ hand landing firmly, sharply on his ass. The teasing pleasure/pain of nails, drawing down, raising skin. The pleasure was building, but it wasn’t enough. Dean babbled, found himself chanting a refrain of  _ please Cas, please _ .

The hand on Dean’s wrists dug nails into his flesh, but he didn’t care. His heart was about to burst, his lungs gasping. Orgasm loomed like a storm cloud, just beyond reach. Dean’s breath shuddered for a moment when he felt something cold and wet slide down his crack, but he forced himself to breathe again, to focus on the new sensation. Cas was leaning forward again, his warm breath huffing into Dean’s ear, whispering praises for him that spurred Dean’s desire higher.

There was a moment when it was too much. A quick spark of pain that overcame the pleasure, but his angel held him fast, and slid one finger in, just past the ring of muscle. Dean stilled until the burn faded, then began to thrust cautiously again toward this new pleasure. Ah, it was amazing and dazzling, this feeling. Cas within him, thrusting and pulling out, finding the place inside Dean that craved to be touched. Dean bucked helplessly against it, his cock straining, his mind buzzing. He was so close, but he needed more. He needed Cas.

All thoughts of shame evaporated. Need eclipsed thought. He began to whimper and moan, shoving his ass up, begging for it wantonly, losing his mind. His skin was crawling, feverish, the desire to be filled driving him again and again on Cas’ fingers.

The sound of a zipper caused Dean’s hips to stutter momentarily. Cas finally relented but did not release him, instead pressing impossibly closer, the blunt and wide head of his cock flush against Dean’s hole. Dean thrust back furiously, his hips pumping, swearing and whining, toes scrabbling against the floor for a better purchase. Finally, Cas slid in, and Dean slowed for a moment, his breathing returning in slow, relieved gasps as he adjusted. So good. So fucking full. And yet, his cock slid heavy between his stomach and the bed, the orgasm waiting between heartbeats. And so with a broken voice, he kept right on begging, each word drawn out in a moan.

Cas gave what was asked, moving his hips first slowly, then faster, his hand closing firmly onto Dean’s wrists. He slid another hand between Dean’s shoulder blades and forced them down, making the angle of Dean’s hips sharper as he shoved himself deeper. Dean moaned and gasped, moving into it, pushing back for more, more. Finally, Cas let himself go, grabbing Dean’s freckled hip in his hands, snapping furiously in with fierce, deep, sharp thrusts. Dean yelled beneath Cas, body tightening as his orgasm ripped through his body. He felt Cas’ cock expand and throb, filling him.

For a moment, all was silent. Cas remained still, his fingers slowly relaxing as Dean’s breath became even, Dean felt Cas’ hand finally release and his body slowly pull back. Dean let out a noise of protest until he felt Cas shift his weight and fall into bed, pulling Dean behind him. 

Dean landed with his back to Cas but remained that way, not sure what would happen if he turned around. Would those gorgeous blue eyes hold anger, judgment, criticism? Could Dean hope for anything else? Did he deserve it? John Winchester’s sanctimonious screams reinstated themselves in full force in his mind. His heart began to thud with dread the longer the silence stretched.

“Dean,” Cas said, sensing his tension.

“Just--Cas, you don’t have to say anything,” Dean cut him off, beginning to pull himself up.

Cas’ hand was firm on his shoulder, not restraining, but resting heavy. “Dean, please talk to me,” Cas encouraged, his gravely voice serious. “I am concerned that I have hurt you.”

“No,” Dean’s voice husked out. 

“Why are you troubled, Dean? Did I not fulfill your desires?” The confusion in Cas’ rumble pierced Dean to the core.  _ What kind of asshole hurts his best friend this way _ , Dean furiously asked himself. John Winchester was right.  _ I destroy everything _ .

“Dean, please answer me,” Cas tried, beginning to sit up.

Dean shook off Cas’ hand, squaring his shoulders and standing. He found some untorn clothes in the duffel bag and slid his boxers and jeans on rapidly, refusing to look back. Keeping his back to Cas, he took a breath.

The phone rang, and Dean picked it up, hiding his sigh.

“Yeah, Sam.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward conversations for everyone!!! ;-p

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments and kudos keep me going. Thank you! Also, I haven't finished writing chapter 18 yet, so it may take me a little longer to update than it had with the previous chapters.

“Hey Dean,” Sam greeted, laying back on his pillow. Byrony was perched on the end of his bed, one ankle tucked under, the other kicking idly off the side.

“Feelin’ better?” Dean asked, his voice sounding rough.

“Yeah, man, but you sound worse.” Sam paused. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Dean dismissed. Sam knew from his tone that everything wasn’t fine, but Dean wouldn’t talk about it anyway, so he moved on.

“So something weird happened at the hospital,” he continued.

“God, Sammy, I hope you aren’t calling to detail your sexual escapades,” Dean joked.

“What?!? No!” Sam retorted. “You’re on speaker phone, man!!”

Byrony was biting her knuckles to hide her laugh, rocking her whole body back and forth.

“Uh, awkward….” Dean coughed. “Who else is there?”

“Byrony.”

“By…” Dean mused. “Oh yeah! The hot nurse!”

Sam coughed energetically.

“I’m a CNA, but thanks for the compliment,” Byrony interjected.

“Huh,” Dean huffed. “Do they still get a stethoscope? Because that’s kinda hot.”

“What?” Sam’s voice was strangled, and a blush was heating the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, I actually have my own, and it’s purple,” Byrony answered.

“So what is the point of this call, if it isn’t social?” Dean inquired.

“Well, Byrony and I were talking--”

“--Boring. Get to the point, Sam.” Dean commanded.

“And I spilled some water on myself. And it reminded me of all the bad luck I’ve been having lately.”

There was a pause.

“Byrony went to clean it up, and she found sand under my bed,” Sam continued.

“Sand?” Dean pushed. “As in, the same sand that was at the scene of the crime?”

“Possibly,” Sam answered. “If it is, we may have a link between the theft and the deaths.”

“You mean Frag and that old hag Aven?” Byrony asked. “I heard their deaths were strange.”

“I’ll explain it all later,” Sam stalled, hoping Dean would let it go.

“Well, if you’re curious, I can send Cas there to check it out. But you may want to explain some things to Byrony before I do,” Dean answered stiffly.

Sam sighed. “I know, Dean. Gimme about an hour, we’ll be ready for Cas then.”

“You got it,” Dean answered, the strain back in his voice. Before Sam could ask about it, Dean had hung up.

Byrony had moved her leg so now both of them were hanging off the side of the bed. Her black boots had quit swinging and now lay still, the lack of movement strange for someone who usually had a lot of excess energy. She sat with her back straight but relaxed, her hands opened into pink-shelled cups in her lap. 

“So, what do you need to explain to me?” She asked, her voice soft, hazel eyes trusting.

Sam swallowed. This was it. The moment it all ended. Once he told her, she wouldn’t see him anymore. She wouldn’t see Sam, the man who had literally fallen into her life, bookish, funny, who also loved cocoa. Instead, she’d see the hunter. A man with scars, some permanent, who hunted and killed things. Merciless, determined, bound to save the world or die trying. The hard outer shell he portrayed. 

Might as well get it over with. Hesitation would just make it worse. Inside, he could feel the fissures begin as he considered the separation to come. How the light in her eyes, the fondness, would dim. How she’d recoil from his touch. This was always hard, this moment.  _ Man up, Sammy, _ Dean’s voice reminded him. And so he did.

“Before we begin, I want you to know you’re already special to me. I still want you to come with me if you still want to. After you know the truth.” Sam swallowed but kept his voice firm, eyes trained on hers. Body language open. He was a pro. Done this thousands of times. He took a deep breath and continued.

“You probably won’t believe me, but there are monsters in this world. The things you see in horror movies, they aren’t just stories. They are true. My brother and I hunt down evil things and kill them.” He paused again.

Byrony’s eyes narrowed as she pulled away. 

“If you didn’t want to be with me, you could have just said so,” she spat. “No need to make up some crazy story.”

“But--” Sam stammered, heart sinking.

“Don’t,” she interrupted, standing. Her face was partially turned, shoulders closed.

“Byrony.” His voice sounded pleading, but he didn’t care about seeming pathetic.

“Forget it, Sam,” She hissed, showing him her back. “You want out, you’ve got it.”

Bending swiftly, she grabbed her backpack and stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

* * *

Half an hour had gone by, and Dean had not called for him. Cas knew that Dean was thinking about him, or at least some of his thoughts were about him, but the hunter remained silent. Pacing around the room, Cas passed the side table for possibly the fiftieth time and automatically ducked his head to avoid the low beams of the ceiling. This was untenable. He must speak with Dean.

And yet. Dean must come to him, or else the balance of this thing they were building would always be uneven. Silently, he wondered if his longing for a relationship was even shared by Dean. Maybe all he had wanted was to experiment, and now he would shut Cas off and move on with his life.

It was a possibility, and that thought caused a yawning hole to open in Cas’ chest. Now that he had experienced it, had a taste of what things could be like with Dean, he wanted more. 

Cas shook his head. He should not have pushed. He had always been able to keep a cooler head than Dean, but when the hunter had turned away from him, he had felt a surge of rage. He’d been unable to tamp it down, to reign in his actions. Instead, he’d used his grace to overpower Dean.

A sudden, horrible thought occurred to the angel. His knees gave out, and he landed heavily on the bed, head cradled in his hands. Had he… taken something Dean wasn’t ready to give? Caused him pain? Damaged the fragile trust between them? Had he  _ raped  _ Dean?

A ragged sob tore out of Cas as he pulled his hands through his hair anxiously. No wonder Dean hadn’t returned, had made no effort to speak to him. The man was probably horrified. Terrified, but unable to admit it. Instead of bringing them closer, he had destroyed the relationship.

Determined, Cas took a deep breath and strode to the door. He had used his grace to take memories from people before, he could do it again. He would remove the times he and Dean had spent together from Dean’s mind. At least then Dean wouldn’t have to suffer from re-living trauma again and again. Cas could bear the burden alone.

Just as his hand fell on the doorknob, the door swung open from the other side. Dean was there, grassy eyes clear, his gaze almost piercing Cas to the core.

“Cas, man, can I come in?” Dean asked.

“Of course, Dean.” Cas sat on the bed. To his surprise, Dean sat close to him without hesitation.

“So you know I hate conversations like this,” Dean cleared his throat. “But I’ve been thinking, and there are some things that need to be said.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas rumbled, tearing his hands through his hair, “I feel any apology on my part would not be sufficient--”

“--Apology?” Dean interrupted, confused. “For what? Did you not enjoy what we just did?”

“You know very well I did,” Cas answered, annoyed, “but that is of little consequence if I have hurt you in any way, Dean.”

“Hurt?” Dean chuckled. “Dude, I am not made of glass.”

“You expressed doubt, but I pushed anyway. I allowed my own feelings to override my usual control.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and took Cas’ chin in his hand, forcing his eyes up. “And it was really hot. I didn’t think I would like that at all, but I really did. It was freakin amazing.”

“It was?” Cas stammered, unbelieving. Sunny green eyes smiled back.

“You rocked my world, Cas.” Dean’s voice was husky, awed. “That’s what I wanted to say.”

Cas remained silent.

“Look, man,” Dean dropped his hand, “This is really lame, and it’s making me itch all over. But I have to say it. Give me a second to get it out.”

Cas waited patiently while Dean looked around the room, let his breath out in an anxious huff, ran his hands through his hair.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” Dean began. “And we’ve been through a lot. And even after all the times shit came down on us, I trust you, Cas. I trust you with my life. And I know we have a  ‘special bond’ or whatever. We do.”

Cas opened his mouth, but Dean just pushed on, dedicated to his path now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are special to me.” Dean winced. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean, it doesn’t sound like I want it to.”

He paused, pursed his lips in frustration, then closed his eyes tightly.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, “I think I have feelings for you.”

Again, Cas began to speak but was interrupted by Dean.

“You don’t have to say anything back or anything, don’t feel like… I mean, I don’t expect it,” Dean stammered. “Hell, I know I can’t possibly deserve it.”

“But--” Cas got out, but Dean was still going on.

“--I just wanted to, you know, clear the air.” Dean’s nose crinkled, displacing the pattern of freckles slightly. “So you know… where I stand. I’m here, Cas.”

Dean swallowed, then cautiously took Cas’ hands in his and fell silent.

Cas’ heart seemed to stop for a moment, then restart. He took a calming breath.

“I never expected you to say that Dean,” Cas finally said. “I didn’t think I could hope for it.”

Dean raised his eyes. Cas saw the tiniest flicker of hope there, and it spurred him to speak.

“Dean, I have seen everything since the creation of the world, and you are the most beautiful thing in it. Not just outwardly, but your soul.” Cas paused. “I am filled with happiness that I have had any opportunity to be close to you. And I, too, may have feelings for you.”

Dean blinked.

“You do?” he asked, husky.

Instead of answering, Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean. Sweetly, but deeply, allowing his body to speak for him.

Dean moaned but moved back. 

“I have no idea how to do this,” he whispered.

“Neither do I,” Cas agreed. “At least we could try. Together.”

Dean’s mouth curved into a megawatt smile. “I like the sound of that. Oh! I need you to go check on Sammy. He found sand under his bed.”

“Like the sand at the crime scenes?” Cas asked. “I will go at once.”

“Okay,” Dean smiled. “Hold on.”

He placed his palm on the angel’s cheek, pulling him in for one more kiss.

“Now you can go.” Dean smiled.

“As you wish,” Cas answered.

* * *

Byrony stormed down the hall of the hospital and into the parking lot. She was sure a few of her co-workers were gossiping, but she didn’t care. She dashed the tears from her eyes angrily.  _ Stupid, _ she told herself.  _ I knew he was too perfect. _

Ah, but it had been nice to hope. Nice to think a sweet, funny guy like Sam could be a possibility. At 23, Byrony had dated her share of guys but never settled down with one. She liked guys, loved hanging out with them, talking about cars or motorcycles, drinking beers. But she’d never met one that made her feel that butterfly crap her friends went on and on about. Not until Sam.

Biting her lip, she fiercely unzipped her backpack and shoved her helmet onto her head. She wasn’t going to cry over some guy she met just a couple of days ago.

She straddled BoyToy and revved him up. The throaty sound was comforting, vibrating into her chest. Her Harley was all she needed, she told herself. He was the perfect man.

It didn’t take long to get to the apartment she rented nearby. She parked in the garage and made sure BoyToy was locked up tight.

Thank goodness she was on the first floor. Byrony loved exercising outdoors, but stairs was a waste of goddamn time and a torture to her calves. She opened the door and let herself in, tossing the keys into the bowl.

She hadn’t lived here long enough to move in yet, which meant there were still a few boxes piled around here and there. Before she had lived here, she had lived with her Nana, taking care of her in her final months. Byrony smiled at the memory of her Nana. She was a vibrant, crazy old lady with endless tales that Byrony had listened to her whole life. She was the inspiration for some of the things Byrony herself wrote.

Byrony strolled into her tiny kitchen, peered into the fridge. Beer. A few pieces of pizza. A bottle of Beam in the freezer along with some frozen dinners. Nothing appetizing. With a sudden rush of frustration, she realized she’d left her only Tupperware in Sam’s room. Goddamn it.

She slammed the door of the fridge and opened a few cabinets. Instant oatmeal and food bars. Nope. She really should start eating better before she got scurvy. She grabbed herself a glass and poured herself a generous amount of whiskey, took a draw, poured a little more. Put the bottle back because she did have to work tomorrow and didn’t want to be hung over.

She made her way to the bedroom, which was a fortress of boxes around her bed. Her bed was full of blankets, all different sizes, and her laptop, of course. She didn’t have a desk or couch to sit on yet. She just had two kitchen chairs, and they were hand-me-down yard sale finds. Uncomfortable and hideous.

Since she had some time, she began unpacking one of her boxes. This one she had planned on saving for a bad day, and if any day was going to be bad, this was it. Inside was a bunch of stuff her mother had given her, saying it was from Nana. For a long time, Byrony hadn’t been able to open the box at all. She had been too sad. Maybe now it was time. Maybe Nana’s stories would help raise her spirits like they always had before.

There was a long, rectangular box. Jewelry? She set that aside for later. A heavy, wax-paper package. Probably clothes. That went on the bed. At the bottom of the box, there was a leather accordion file. The type that lawyers use to hold paperwork. Maybe there was something interesting in here.

Byrony reached in and her fingers brushed the spine of a journal. She pulled it out and sat Indian-style in the center of the bed, so she was comfortable to read. It wasn’t very heavy. The book had a dark brown leather cover with a tree of life stamped into the center. Carefully, Byrony opened to the first page.

_ This is the journal of Laurel Browning. If you find this, I have perished at the hands of a terrible beast. _

Byrony chuckled. Nana was always so dramatic. It was a treat to read her writing. Curious, she flipped a few pages ahead to find what looked like sketches. Each one was labeled carefully, almost like a biology text. But these sketches were things Byrony had never seen before. Animals. Or monsters?

Holding her breath, Byrony paged further.

_ I am beginning to think I may have to leave this life _ , she read.  _ Although I have ranged all over the country and helped many people, I feel empty. I feel like if I was gone, no one would mourn me. _

Byrony frowned. Poor Nana, to feel that way. Each page held intricate descriptions of creatures. There were dates and places Byrony knew her grandmother had actually been. Could this be… real? She read further.

_ Today, on an easy hunt, I met a man. He wasn’t involved, just lived in town. He said his name was Joe. Quite a looker. _

Byrony giggled. Could this be her grandfather? His name was Joe. She paged forward a bit, read some more.

_ Even though I’ve moved on to three more places, I can’t keep my mind off Joe. He follows my every thought. I feel like I left some part of me with him, no matter where I go. _

Byrony bit her lip. Definitely her grandfather, then. She went back to the page where her Nana had first referred to him.

_...on an easy hunt…. _

Wait.

Byrony’s heart stuttered. Wasn’t that what Sam had said?

_ My brother and I hunt evil things… _

Holy shit.

Her hands went numb, and she dropped the book, but not before she noticed a plain white envelope with her name on it slide to the floor.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Sam have a good talk. Also, time with Dean and Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. It's short but good, I promise!! Your kudos and comments literally made me squeal with joy. Some lovely smut as a reward for waiting while I wrote this.

Cas appeared in Sam’s room and found Sam sitting on the bed completely dressed, looking like someone had just punched him straight in the gut. His face was drawn, his hazel eyes troubled beneath dark eyebrows.

“Sam,” Cas was concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Sam waved him off. “Just tired. Take a look at the sand, will yah?”

Cas hesitated. Should he press for more information? Something was definitely bothering the younger Winchester, he could tell by the way his shoulders slumped beneath his wrinkled shirt. He could ask, but he probably wouldn’t get much. Sighing, the angel obediently bent down and scanned the floor.

“This is indeed the same substance we have seen before,” he told Sam.

“Huh,” Sam paused to think. “I was hoping I’d have a clearer idea of what that meant.”

“Perhaps if you sleep on it,” Cas suggested kindly. “I used to be quite unaware of its benefits, but recently I have found that sleeping allows an unfocused mind to find clarity.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam murmured, hazel eyes distant and his thoughts elsewhere.

“Would you like me to return you to the B&B, so you can talk it over with Dean?”

Perhaps some time with Dean could help Sam, Cas reasoned. They often seemed happier in each other’s presence. Not always, but often.

Sam shook his head slowly.

“Nah, it’s almost midnight. I’ll just sleep here and make my way over tomorrow morning. I need some time alone.”

Cas tilted his head curiously. He’d found that being alone almost never aided the thought process. In fact, he found himself often pulled into circular reasoning or negative thinking. However, perhaps Sam’s thought process was different. The angel nodded. 

“I’m unsure of whether or not your condition would be improved by the company of others. Therefore, I trust your judgment.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam paused. “How are things with Dean? Any better?”

“I don’t think that your brother would want me to discuss that with you, Sam,” Cas answered stiffly. “But I can say I think we got some of our ‘kinks’ out.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “I think you’re using that phrase incorrectly, Cas.”

Cas considered this solemnly. “Perhaps so. I am still learning all the nuances of speech.”

Sam chuckled. “Good luck with that, man. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell Dean’s saying.”

Cas blinked but said nothing. He wanted to agree but was unsure of what Sam’s reaction would be.

“Good night, man.” Sam’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, Sam,” Cas answered, and was gone.

* * *

Cas appeared directly in front of Dean and grabbed the front of his tee shirt in his fists. The angel planted his mouth scaldingly on Dean, kissing him thoroughly. Dean’s thoughts were swept away by the muscular tongue massaging his energetically. He gasped, his body yearning closer. His hands grasped the collar of Cas’ trench coat, shoving it down as quickly as possible. One of Cas’ hand slid up toward Dean’s neck, grasping and pulling him in. They backed toward the bed and tumbled down.

Dean’s universe completely of Cas. The tightly-muscled body tight to his, rubbing his skin in the best of ways. The strong fingers, just shy of bruising, digging into him desperately. That gorgeous mouth, hot on his, sucking his lips, bringing a heady dizziness already.

He gasped and arched his head into the soft mattress, toeing off his boots and kicking them away. They smacked against the wall, but neither man noticed, engrossed in tasting each other’s skin. Cas took the opportunity to pin Dean down by his shoulders, licking and nipping his neck. The salty-pine taste drove him mad, and he sunk his mouth down hard just above the collarbone and bit down. Dean pushed into it, allowing a deep groan to echo loudly around the room. Bursts of lust radiated from that one point, sending his mind reeling. His eyelids slammed tightly shut.

“Yes, Cas!” he hissed, his voice already rough.

Cas’ deep moan vibrated against Dean’s skin as he pressed his teeth down.

Dean was thrashing now, longing for more, his legs pinned between Cas’ own.

“Please!” he ground out, turning his head further to allow greater access.

Cas lifted his mouth off, moving his hands to slide roughly under Dean’s tee, nails scraping along the sharp planes of Dean’s abs. Dean thrashed his head to the other side, his body thrilling, biting his perfect bottom lip.

The angel ran his hands behind Dean’s shoulders, lifting him up as he took the tee shirt off and tossed it across the room. In the next second, that mouth was back on him again, and Dean was doing his best to not howl at the explosion from every kiss. Cas was taking his time now, placing his lips with maddening gentleness. The hunter growled in frustration, but knew better than to struggle against the angel’s iron grip.

Cas’ mouth was gliding over his chest, tongue mapping every curve and dip. Every so often, Cas would pause to lap up the beads of sweat or suck down harder into the freckled flesh.

“Cas!” Dean warned. “You’re gonna drive me insane!”

“That is the point precisely,” Cas rumbled and bit hard on a nipple.

Dean’s jaw clenched as his head jerked upward sharply. It was right on the edge, so sweet, like electricity shooting through his chest.

“God, that mouth!” he moaned.

“Do not blaspheme, Dean,” Cas chided, but moved southward.

Dean grinned and sneaked a peek down. His view of the angel’s face was mainly blocked by that shiny-soft hair, but he could see the bulky shoulders rippling as he moved. The olive skin was gorgeous, glowing. Cas must have used his mojo to take off his clothes, but Dean didn’t care.

His roaming thoughts came crashing to a halt as the angel moved slowly downward. A strong, wet tongue was dragging over his stomach; sparks of heat following in its wake. Dean wiggled his hips and found he could thrust them a tiny bit, so he thrust toward the the teasing mouth. Arctic blue, glowing eyes suddenly froze Dean to the bed.

“Keep still,” Cas instructed lowly, tightening his grip on Dean’s shoulders.

He did, but it was difficult, with that wild feeling building in his core. Cas was moving carefully, deliberately keeping him on edge, and Dean had to bite harder on his lips to keep from whining. He was sure he was flushed, he could feel the heat in his face and the rapid pace of his heart.

Cas was licking trails down Dean’s stomach, pausing to lazily mouth his belly button. It tickled, but Dean held firmly in place as Cas had instructed. The angel raised his head to look directly at Dean, his blue eyes soft and mild.

“That was good, Dean,” he murmured.

Dean glowed at the praise.

Cas lowered his mouth again, this time nipping down incrementally until he reached Dean’s jeans. Instead of removing them, he just kept going, placing hot, wet kisses directly on the fabric. The feeling was incredibly naughty, and Dean smiled as he moaned. His cock jumped and strained towards Cas’ mouth.

God, how much he wanted to see that mouth wrapped around his cock! Dean grunted as Cas mouthed his bulge carefully. He could almost imagine how it would feel to be completely enveloped by the angel.

“Please, Cas,” he gasped.

He was answered by the classic, innocent head tilt. “Please what, Dean?”

Dean bit back a moan. The angel was surrounded by a halo of dark hair, straddling the hunter’s knees, completely naked, golden muscles gleaming and coated with sweat. He was beautiful, lips pink, blue eyes wide.

“Please suck my cock,” Dean whispered, feeling the blush creep into his cheeks. He had never asked a man to do this, never lay wanting anything this badly.

His clothes disappeared, whisked away by Cas’ mojo. The angel leaned forward, and locking eyes with Dean, he slid his hands down the hunter’s aching cock slowly. His grip was firm; the skin of his palm soft in contrast. Heat and pleasure pulsed in waves from the top of his cock to the base, racing to his spine and spiralling higher. Dean’s breath was ragged, his hips twitching with the need for more contact with Cas.

“Cas,” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, “I need your mouth.”

A throaty chuckle emanated from the angel’s chest, curving his lips into a smile.

“So needy,” he observed, but his tone was fond.

Dean’s frustrated groan was cut off when the angel’s mouth lowered slowly, coming to hover scant inches above the head of his cock. The hunter held his breath, caught in the ageless blue gaze as Cas flicked out his tongue to get a taste. It was erotic, seeing him bent there, one hand fisted tight around his cock’s base, the other licking lightly at the hunter’s cock head. Dean’s heartbeat was going crazy, the breath ripping in and out of his lungs. The angel smiled a bit, blue eyes twinkling as he slid his tongue down, licking a warm line from tip to root.

Dean’s head tossed back, his toes curling as he let out a needy moan. The pleasure was too much. Even this light touch would undo him, he was sure. The need for orgasm was pulsing hard, his cock bobbing stiffly as Cas wrapped his hand around it again. He finally lowered his mouth and took the head in, swirling his tongue in tiny circles. Lust exploded fireworks behind Dean’s tightly-closed eyelids; his hands knotted tightly in the sheets.

But the angel was merciless, pulling his cheeks in to suck gently and massaging the sides with his tongue. Fire was running up and down Dean’s spine, but he wanted more. More Cas, more of his mouth. He found himself struggling, wanting to thrust deep into the angel’s sweet mouth.

Cas took the hint and pulled Dean’s hips up, his thumbs gripping hard as he sucked down. Dean moaned, rocking his head side to side, thrashing. His heart was going to explode, he was sure of it. He clung tight to the sheets, his throat raw.

Just when he thought he could take no more, Cas pulled back, keeping his hand around Dean’s cock but sitting back on his heels so he could see the hunter and enjoy the view.

“You are so beautiful,” Cas whispered.

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Are you gonna fuck me, or are you gonna write poetry?”

Cas smiled. “Perhaps both,” he answered.

The angel shifted, sliding his legs so they nestled between Dean’s.

“I want to taste all of you,” he rumbled, lowering his mouth.

Dean let out a sigh as Cas began to slowly kiss the top of his thighs. The change in pace was a relief, and his heart slowed down, although the need for orgasm was still buzzing in his groin. Cas glided his tongue over Dean’s balls, earning a whimper from the hunter. With care, he began to lick lower and lower, cupping the balls in his hand. Dean’s eyes slid shut and his legs fell open naturally, low moans slipping from his lips.

Before he knew it, the angel’s tongue had made its way to his hole, and he held his breath. Oh! it felt so good. Crazy good, like a thousand tiny pulses of pleasure moving in concentric circles just from a few hesitant swipes. He opened his legs more to allow Cas easier access, his eyes rolling back and mouth hanging open with bliss. Cas was licking him in earnest now, strong hands splayed on Dean’s thighs to hold them open as he pushed his tongue against Dean’s hole. Dean gave in to the urge and rolled his hips forward an inch, feeling the warm wetness enter him. 

His breath punched out of his lungs in needy gasps. The hunter was shaking, keening, endless strings of words rolling from his mouth. Cas thrust his tongue deep, feeling the tight, hot heat grasping tightly around him. Dean’s head thrashed, his perfect lips uttering a mix of pleas and curses.

The angel pushed a finger carefully in, feeling Dean’s hips stutter and still from the sudden intrusion. He kept his mouth close, licking furiously until the hunter began to move again, thrusting onto his finger. He pulled back to look at Dean and was awed by the display. The hunter was sprawled, legs wide, chest heaving, glass-green eyes glowing with need.

“Please, Cas,” Dean ground out, “I need your cock.”

His freckled skin was shiny with sweat as Dean thrust himself rhythmically onto Cas’ finger. The angel slid another one in, causing the hunter to swear and thrash. Dean’s hips were working feverishly. his fingers tight in the sheet. His face was a work of perfect planes and shadows, each angle placed to mathematical perfection.

Cas leaned forward to place a tender kiss to those soft, bitten lips. “Ask nicely,” he growled.

Dean let out a groan but kept his hungry eyes on Cas. He mouth was almost smirking as he replied.

“Please fuck me, Cas,” the deep voice rumbled. Green eyes sparkled with mirth.

Cas slid his fingers out and grabbed Dean’s hips, sliding a pillow beneath his ass. He gripped the hunter’s shoulders with his hands and lowered his head. The angel’s  body draped tightly over his, the tight skin of their cocks rubbing together maddeningly.

The angel’s hand flashed up, and the bottle of lube appeared in his palm. Dean grinned crookedly.

“Nice trick,” he huffed.

Cas rumbled in assent and covered his fingers, sliding them again over Dean’s hole. Dean hissed, thrusting eagerly up. He was rewarded with the tingle-burn and pleasure as Cas pushed his fingers in and began to stretch him in earnest. Warmth raced up Dean’s spine, exploding in his chest as he groaned. He was so, so close. His cock was hard and throbbing, moving against the soft skin of Cas’ stomach.

But the angel wasn’t done yet. He thrust in a third finger and began to spread them with each thrust, and Dean pushed against them, longing for his lover. He was beyond bliss, the muscles of his hole fluttering around Cas’ fingers. His brow wrinkled as he began to roll his hips, letting Cas find the magic place. Just one brush, and he’d probably be gone, but he didn’t care. The sound of his own heart was echoing loudly in his ears.

Cas removed his fingers and grabbed Dean’s legs, swinging one onto each shoulder. Dean’s eyes opened to the view of the angel leaning down for a kiss, face bracketed on each side by the hunter’s ankles. His eyelids closed again at the taste of Cas, his Cas. Rain, sunlight, honey-sweet. Their lips pulled and sucked at each other, and Dean barely felt it when the head of Cas’ cock pushed in.

He moaned around Cas’ tongue as more heat and pressure spread in concentric circles. Longing spiraled dizzy in his core, and he gasped for Cas.

Firm hands held him, one tight in his hair, the other on his shoulder, and Cas began to move, bottoming out. It was amazing, even more so than Dean remembered because now he was free to run his own palms down those muscled limbs, feel each one bunch and clench with movement. Cas’ face rocked into his shoulder, his breaths ragged against Dean’s ear. He felt the moment building, the press of Cas’ mouth on his chest. 

“Yes!” Dean gasped.

The angel groaned and sucked hard, working the skin between his teeth.

“Cas!” his voice was tight with need, lust.

Cas grabbed his ass and hauled it higher, shoving his cock even deeper. Dean’s head snapped back as the angel slammed into his prostate. Lights burst behind his tightly shut eyelids.

“Cas!” he grabbed hard between the angel’s shoulder blades, nails raking skin. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Yes!” the angel growled, tangling Dean’s fingers in his own. 

His other hand tightened on Dean’s shoulder, and he raised his head, pinning Dean with his glowing gaze.

“You are mine, Dean Winchester.”

Something in Dean’s chest burst joyously open and the orgasm rushed in. He was flying, spiraling, sparks and fire chasing each other up and down his limbs. His mind went blank, the air pumped rapidly from his lungs. His cock spasmed wildly, cum spurting between them, coating their stomachs. He felt the angel pulse within him, filling him. 

His fingers tightened on the angel’s, their palms tight together. The angel pressed his forehead to Dean’s as they shared a shaky breath. Their mouths melded together, slowly caressing. The angel’s grip loosened on his hip, then turned into a caress.

“Dean,” he whispered, blue eyes searching.

The hunter met his gaze, green eyes beaming. “Cas.”

The silence stretched, hearts quieting. Their breath slowed, the moment shared as their bodies settled together. After a moment, Cas shifted his weight, preparing to move.

“Wait,” Dean’s voice was husky, tender.

Cas stilled, resting on his elbows.

“What is it?” The angel cocked his head and regarded the hunter.

“Don’t go,” Dean’s eyebrows wrinkled slightly.

Cas held him in his blue gaze. “Is there something wrong, Dean?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his faced turned slightly away. “No.”

“Please tell me,” Cas pressed. “Have I hurt you?”

Green eyes flashed rebelliously. “No, Cas.”

The angel reached up to cup Dean’s cheek.

“I know you, Dean Winchester,” he pointed out strictly. “I wove your body together when I pulled you from Perdition. I have seen your soul.”

Dean swallowed and forced himself to look at Cas.

“I know,” he answered softly. 

A beat passed. Dean let out a sigh.

“It’s stupid,” he temporized.

“Nothing you say is ever stupid to me,” Cas answered evenly, truthfully.

“It’s just--” Dean hesitated, then ended in a rush. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Cas pulled up slightly, confused. “Why would I leave, Dean?”

“You have before,” the hunter pointed out, trying not to sound churlish.

Cas accepted the point. 

“I have,” he answered, his voice soft. “But if you don’t want me to leave, I give you my oath that I will never leave your side again.”

“Dude,” Dean chuckled, but his eyes were warm. “No reason to get all Lord of the Rings on me.”

Cas smiled wryly. “That was not my intention, and I think you know that, Dean. I merely wanted you to feel secure.”

Green eyes rolled sarcastically. “Oh, no! Girly pop psychology!”

Cas regarded him solemnly, and Dean settled down.

“I need to say something,” Cas decided. “Can I roll over so we are both more comfortable?”

Dean nodded, his expression a mix of concern and hope. Cas rolled to the side, folding one leg over Dean’s and laying his head on the hunter’s chest. The steady cadence of his heart echoed like the tide in Cas’ ear. It was soothing, especially when Dean curled his arm around the angel and pulled him tighter. He nestled in, feeling warm and comfortable. Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Cas’ head, and the simple action caused a thrill to run through him. How sweet, how precious and unexpected this time was. 

Cas began to speak softly, knowing that Dean would hear him anyway.

“I have already told you that I have feelings for you, Dean. I want to tell you now that I am in love with you.”

Dean’s breath hitched, and Cas rushed on. “It’s fine if you don’t return my feelings. We can continue on this way for as long as you wish. I just wanted you to know that my heart belongs to you, Dean. It always had.”

Time froze for a moment as Dean expelled the breath he was holding. Gently, he pulled Cas up by the shoulders so their eyes were at the same level. Something beautiful was swimming in those mossy depths. Something Cas had never received. The moment broke as Dean tenderly brushed his fingers across Cas’ lips.

“I am no good with fancy words,” the hunter admitted, tiny creases appearing between his brows at this confession. “You know how hard this is for me.”

Cas nodded silently.

“But, Cas,” Dean continued, “When you just said that, my heart felt like it burst into a million happy pieces. Like confetti or balloons.”

Cas’ own chest felt lifted as the hunter gave him a sweet grin.

“I’m gonna deny the shit outta this girly crap if you ever dare to tell Sammy,” Dean growled. “But Cas, I am sick of fighting it. We both fought it so long, and it’s just exhausting.”

The angel smiled in agreement.

“I have never felt this way for anyone else,” Dean’s voice was low, awed. “It’s like some weird magnet in my chest that pulls me to you. All the time. And when you’re away--” his voice broke. 

He swallowed before continuing. “It kills me, man. It’s like a piece of me is gone. Torn out. And this big, bloody hole is gaping in my chest.”

Dean’s free hand gestured just above his breastbone, and Cas grasped it tightly in his own, kissing the fingers fiercely.

Dean’s breathing calmed after a moment.

“Anyways,” he grinned, “All that sappy shit leads up to one thing.”

He waited until Cas’ blue eyes were back, the endless, ancient gaze on his.

“Cas,” Dean stated, “I’m in love with you. Always will be. If you want this mess--” He pulled his hand out to gesture at himself “--I’m all yours.”

The words were barely out before Cas was on him, kissing him over and over. Dean ran his hands up the angel’s shoulder and kissed him back. They rocked together, breathing in, whispering, hearts thudding; together at last.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas goes back to check on Sam. Sam and Byrony reconnect. Lots of smutty smut and some fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments and kudos are my inspiration. Enjoy!

Sam let out a grateful breath as soon as the angel was out of the room. The dude was awesome, especially to have at your back in a fight, but he had a way of looking at people like they were some kind of scientific experiment. A bug pinned under glass. Sam shuddered. Creepy.

He hoped Cas was right about things calming down with Dean. The last thing this case needed was those emotionally constipated drama queens angsting all over each other when the fight with whatever this thing was finally came to a head. 

Sam had that prickle at the back of his neck that made him think they were close to figuring it out. Like the feeling on his skin before lightning struck. A frisson of expectation that caused the fine hair on his arms to raise into arcs. As Dean would say, this shit storm was gonna break, and it would be a doozy.

Part of him was still disappointed about the way things had gone with Byrony. Knowing the hunting life was no place for that kind of emotional crap, though, he pushed it out of his mind with resolve. He only had a few hours left to sleep before daybreak, when he planned to get his stuff together and head on back. No reason to stay in Peterborough now.

Just as he was thinking this, there was a rap at his door.

“Yes?” Sam stood, expecting the doctor.

The door swung open to reveal Byrony, her arms full of a cardboard box, her helmet hanging off one wrist, her hair a tangled mess.

“You should try riding a Harley with a box,” she grumbled, closing the door with her heel. “It is a pain in the ass.”

“Uh…” Sam stammered, taking a moment to swallow. “Hi, Byrony.”

“Hi,” She grinned, but Sam could see her eyes were pink from a recent cry. 

She turned away to place her box on the floor and then stood there in front of Sam, toeing the linoleum with her head bowed.

“So, this is awkward,” she acknowledged. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me so soon. Or, uh… ever,”

“Well,” Sam began, but trailed off, unsure of whether he should touch her or not.

Byrony huffed out a breath. 

“Seems like I owe you an apology,” she muttered, looking everywhere but Sam.

“An apology?” Sam asked, completely confused.

“Uh, yeah.” Byrony cleared her throat, knelt and retrieved a book, thrusting it at Sam. “Seems you were right.”

Sam glanced down at the leather-bound journal in his hands, still lost. 

“I was… right?” He began cautiously.

“Yeah,” Byrony mumbled, looking both mutinous and tiny.

“And you were. . .” Sam trailed off again, wordless.

“Mistaken,” Byrony finished definitively, finally raising her eyes to Sam. 

Sam swallowed a grin. This woman probably never used the word  _ wrong _ while referring to herself. He liked that.

“I see,” Sam finally said. “I appreciate you coming, Byrony, but what--”

It was at this inauspicious moment that Cas appeared in the room. A loud snapping noise, like sails, and he was just standing there, a completely normal-looking man where there was empty space before.

“Holy shit!” Byrony swore, windmilling back until she landed in the one chair the room had to offer. Her tan hand was pressed tightly to her chest. “What the fuck-- Who the fuck is that?!?”

“It’s all right, Byrony,” Sam answered. “It’s Cas. You’ve met him before, remember?”

“What?” Byrony gasped. “Cas? As in the guy with your brother?”

Cas eyed her levelly. “Hello, Byrony.”

“Jesus,” Byrony hissed. “Is his voice always that fucking low? How did I not notice that before? And how did he get in here?”

Cas opened his mouth, but Sam interrupted what would have probably been a complicated answer.

“Cas in an angel, Byrony,” he explained slowly. “He can fly places. Or sort of teleport.”

“Technically, it’s flying,” Cas pointed out. “I just arrive instantaneously.”

Byrony had her head in her hands and was breathing suspiciously slowly.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked, concerned.

“She is using a technique to keep from hyperventilating,” Cas explained. “It is often used to calm down the nervous system from shock.”

“Shock?!?” Sam exclaimed, his heart ramping up. “Is she going to be okay? Should we get a blanket or ice? Some water, maybe?”

Byrony began to giggle from behind her hands. “Wow, Sam, you are terrible at this!”

Both men turned to look at her. She dropped her hands and looked from one to the other, strands of black-purple hair sticking to her face.

“Seriously?” She demanded. “An angel.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “An angel of the Lord,” he corrected.

“Is there any other kind?” Byrony asked, half-sarcastic.

Again Cas opened his mouth to answer, and Sam jumped in.

“Yes, but that isn’t the point right now. The point is that there are supernatural things in this world, and we are trying to find one. Here.”

“Here in Peterborough?” Byrony blinked owlishly.

“Actually, we think it’s involved in the museum theft and subsequent deaths,” Cas answered.

“There’s an evil thing in my hometown?” Byrony clarified. “And you didn’t tell me about it?”

“To be fair, you wouldn’t have believed us,” Sam pointed out.

Byrony shrunk a little in her seat. “I guess that’s true, seeing how I didn’t believe you a few hours ago. That’s why I brought my Nana’s journal.”

“This?” Sam looked at the journal. “What does this have to do with  the case?”

“I don’t know if it does, but I think she was a hunter,” Byrony answered.

“Really?” Sam was fascinated. “That’s unusual for a woman. Especially back a few generations.”

“I know, but my Nana was always an odd lady. Did whatever she wanted and damn all the rest.” Byrony got up energetically and took the book from Sam, finding the entry she had read before. 

“See?” She asked, pointing it out.

Sam took the journal back and read rapidly. “Wow!” he gasped. “You’re right, she was.” He paged further. “She’s got vamps, werewolves, wendigos. The whole nine!”

“So it’s true,” Byrony realized with a gasp.

“Yes,” Cas intoned.

“If you’re an angel”-- she began, but Cas cut her off.

“My wings aren’t able to be perceived on this plane of existence,” he explained. “Why must all humans ask that?”

“Probably because you don’t look like we expect,” Byrony retorted. “No offense, but you aren’t a chubby baby with gold curls.”

“Those are supposed to be either Cupids or Cherubim,” Cas growled in reply, “And neither appear like that in real life. Humans enjoy artistic license.”

“As much as I like an art debate,” Sam soothed, “We really need to be talking about the case.”

“Yes,” Cas turned to face Sam. “I spoke to your brother and he prefers that you spend the night in your room at the B&B.”

That rankled with Sam. “Did he not consider that I would have my own opinion about that?”

Cas sighed, rubbing his neck. “I tried to make the same point,” he admitted, and Sam could have sworn there was awkwardness in his voice. “Your brother is convinced you could ‘lick your wounds’ better close to us.”

“Why would he say that?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What did you tell him about me, Cas?”

Cas shrunk a little into his trench coat, throwing his hands up defensively. “It was for your own good! I told him you seemed sad.”

“Sad?!” Sam blustered. Shit. He would never live that down. He let his annoyance show as sarcasm in his tone. “Thanks, Cas. Now I  _ have _ to go.”

Cas looked at him with mournful eyes. “I don’t understand your reticence. Usually, you enjoy time with your brother.”

“I do when he’s not calling me a crybaby!” Sam pointed out. “Which he will now that you’ve said that. And what makes you Dean’s spy now, anyway?”

“Boys, boys,” Byrony interrupted. “Can we please get back to the part where we were talking about the case?”

“Sorry, Byrony,” Sam apologized, shooting a dirty look at Cas.

Byrony ignored that and moved on. “So, after I found that journal, I found a letter from my Nana to me! She explained even further about being a hunter!”

“That’s amazing, Byrony,” Sam answered, wondering how this related to the case.

“Evidently, she had some research on the manuscript you had mentioned earlier. It isn’t much, and I doubt you’ll learn anything new, but it’s in the back of the journal,” Byrony continued.

Sam flipped to the end and began to read over the lines carefully.

“Also,” Byrony added, “She left me this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught a flash of color as Byrony bent to open a wax paper package at the bottom of the box. She straightened back up, flourishing twin knives.

“Cool, huh?” Byrony crowed, her face glowing. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, moving closer.

The knives were longer than his fingers and curled like claws. Obviously a set, they had dark wood handles and wickedly sharp blades. From the shine of them, Sam guessed them to be silver. As Byrony turned one for him to study, he noted a demon-slaying rune engraved in each blade.

“Your Nana was a serious hunter,” Sam smiled at Byrony. “I bet she was a badass in her day.”

Byrony tilted her chin up, losing herself in Sam’s hazel eyes. How could she have thought she would be happy without this in her life?

Cas cleared his throat, stepping back.

“I’ll leave you to it. Sam, why don’t you head up tomorrow morning? We can see you then.”

“Okay,” Sam smiled. “Thanks for letting me stay, Cas.”

Cas nodded in understanding and vanished.

* * *

 

The room settled into quiet as Byrony’s eyes met Sam’s. Faintly, beyond the door, she was aware of the sporadic ding when patients pressed their call lights; the squeak of the nurse’s cart murmured conversations as visitors passed by. The life of the hospital, slowing down to its sleepy evening pace. Fed, comforted patients, now settling in to rest; the nurse giving meds on her last rounds before the third shift. She loved this moment when she was at work. It was the reason she returned, even after the hard days, when her body ached from constant effort or when her heart lay low in her chest after someone passed. In her heart, she considered it an almost sacred duty. Comforting each person and showing them love before they slept.

Her neck was still sore from bending and moving that day, and her right knee was aching slightly from the time she had sprained it six months before. She was grateful she had taken the time to change out of her scrubs and taken a shower earlier. The last thing she needed was to smell like baby spit-up at a time like this.

These mundane thoughts were racing around her mind, but she pushed them down. She wanted to be fully present, here with Sam. She didn’t know why, but she had felt an instant connection with this man. Normally, she didn’t date men who were this much bigger than her, because she felt too tiny, too easily crushed in their presence. But something about Sam made her feel safe, even after his confessions.

It was the way he held her in his eyes. It felt comforting, tender. Like an embrace. Like coming home, except even home hadn’t felt like this. Home carried with it an underlying tension: unspoken criticism or stress, tangled strains from relationships and work. But with Sam, there was acceptance, total, absolute. The freedom to express who she was and receive only a positive response. The freedom was thrilling.

He was doing it now, cupping her cheek with one hand and looking down at her like she was some unexpected gem. Although his palm and fingers were calloused, his touch was incredibly soft, almost hovering over her, creating sparks along her skin. His

hazel eyes held surprising flecks of green and gold. She could tumble into them, and almost felt she would.

She licked her lips, longing to taste his, longing to be held by him.

And then his mouth was on her, hot, needy, like a tide pulling her in. She was completely surrounded by him, her face cradled in his palms. Her hands were running up and down the barrel of his chest, stymied by the layers of clothes between them. His kisses were long, fierce, almost biting, and she moaned with delight.

She was falling, heedlessly, every concern wiped completely from her mind. Sam’s hands had slid from her face and now she was in his arms, his palms pressing between her shoulder blades, supporting her weight as she melted in. 

A frantic need was ramping up in her, rippling in concentric circles through her entire body from her core. A dizzying, maddening rush of pounding heart, shaking limbs, Sam licking aggressively into her mouth as she fought to get beneath his shirt.

He led her to the bed, and she fell down on it willingly, not caring that the door didn’t lock, that some busybody nurse might come in, that someone might hear. She needed him now, this minute, and she wouldn’t wait to take him home. Her desperation was echoed in him, she could feel it in the way he paused to kiss the crook of her neck and behind her ear. His tongue traced the tattoo there, a minuscule treble clef hidden as a nod toward her musical talent. Shivers worked their way from her neck down her spine as he pulled back, blowing cool air across her skin.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, awed.

She surged against him, lips hungry for more. He pulled his shirt up, exposing the tanned and muscled chest that his clothes had hinted at before. She slid her hands up and down along the hard arcs of his ribs, amazed at the span of his chest. It was so deep, she could barely encompass it with her arms, but damned if she wasn’t about to try. His skin firm and almost feverish to her touch and she pulled herself up onto her elbows to taste. 

Sam moaned and pressed into her as she licked and sucked the planes and dips of his chest. The taste of him was wild, spicy. Campfires, hard work, long shirtless days in the sun. Clean but masculine, tingling on her tongue. He moved away, but only to grind her lips with his again. Their mouths were open, gasping into each other, and now his hands were rubbing slowly into the sensitive skin at her hip.

Squirming beneath him, she finally got enough space to pull off her own shirt. He paused above her, hazel eyes wide, his hand hovering over the soft flesh of her abdomen.

“Byrony,” he whispered; a plea.

“Yes,” she answered, permission.

His fingers moved gently but firmly over her, caressing in tiny circles. It was maddening. She thrust herself against him again, catching his mouth, nipping at the corners of his lips. He grasped her a little tighter around her ribs, fingers working their magic, unclasping her bra.

“Come on, Winchester,” she hissed into his ear. “I am not made out of glass.”

That’s all it took for him to pull her bra off and throw it toward the other side of the room, his dark hair casting shadows over his face. He bent to her breast and licked at a nipple, throwing her hips into a frenzy. Byrony’s hands dug into his hair, and he opened and sucked her nipple into her mouth.

High-pitched breaths were tumbling out of Byrony, her chin raised, as she raked his back with one hand. She needed more, more. A hungry wetness was forming between her thighs, coating everything slick and ready. Frissons of lust filled her chest, thinned the air, heated her flaming skin.

Sam was moving his mouth down, and she was shoving him, muttering encouragement. He got to her jeans and paused, so she unbuttoned and unzipped, letting him pull them down. Thank God she had on those pretty black lace panties, her brain submitted, dazed, as Sam’s mouth descended, his breath hot and damp. He mouthed her through the satin, his tongue working the fabric, and Byrony had to bite her cheek to keep from moaning.

God! All Byrony knew was want, want. Her hands scrabbled against his shoulders, her legs spreading, ankles sliding close to the inside of her thighs.

“Sam!” Her voice was thin, whining.

He palmed her panties down rapidly, pulling out of the way as she kicked them off. In a fluid movement, he unzipped and tossed his own pants and boxers, returning to her with a grin. His mouth enveloped hers again, demanding, learning every corner, and tasting faintly of Byrony herself.

She reached for a blanket, threw it over his shoulders, then wrapped her legs firmly over his hips. Her hands were running over him, mapping him, memorizing every angle and plane.

“You better fucking finish what you started,” she husked, holding him with a stern gaze.

“I always do,” Sam promised, then canted her hips higher.

She had caught a peek of his cock when he shucked off his boxers, so she knew it was big. Thick, plump. Nice length. When he pushed into her, she felt herself stretch pleasantly as he filled her up. He was holding himself up on his wrists, watching her intensely.

“Move, Winchester!” She commanded, matching her words with a strong pull from her legs.

His mouth met hers as he obeyed, meeting her thrusts with his own. The thrill was amazing, the feel of his skin tight on her, his cock sliding deep and thick inside her walls. He lowered himself to his elbows, his mouth finding a tender place on her shoulder to nip. She gasped against him, bit his shoulder to keep from crying out.

She felt her orgasm building already, brought on by the intensity of the moment. Sam was merciless and beautiful, raising up every once in awhile to look into her eyes, measure her pleasure before he took his own. His skin was glowing, radiant, his lips slick with kisses. And always, his hazel eyes held her safe in their tender gaze.

“Sam!” She moaned.

“Byrony,” he replied, coming down to suck her bottom lip between his.

And it was just enough when he pulled her up, palming her ass into position. His muscles bunched, he gasped, and suddenly his hands were folding her shoulders, his cock rubbing deep. Her head tilted back, she held back a scream as he fucked into her furiously, hips snapping, letting out a deep, ferocious groan.

Her orgasm flew after his, her mind spiraling into whiteness, held breath, Sam pumping into her, moaning her name. Her eyelids shut tight, rosy flashes exploding in her mind, her legs trembling, her abdomen spasming with wave after wave of pleasure.

He pulled away, and she caught her breath as he moved to curl her against him awkwardly in the tiny bed. She giggled as she noticed his ankles were hanging off the edge forlornly, barely covered by the blanket. He leaned, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead.

“I want you to stay with me, Byrony,” he whispered. “Come with me.”

Her job, her apartment, her parents. And yet, Sam.

“Yes,” she whispered, her face tight to his chest.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas meet back up with Sam and Byrony. A new victim is found, and the shit storm breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, y'all, buckle in. I apologize to those of you who weren't ready for Sam and Byrony, but I kind of had to squish the timing to keep the momentum going. ;) Hope all is forgiven on that front. Kudos and comments make me happier than the cookie monster on crack.

As Dean and Cas made their way downstairs the next morning, they were intercepted in the lobby by Janice. She was wearing an unexpectedly dumpy sweater paired with a brown corduroy skirt. Her normally frizzed hair hung limply on her shoulders, and her face was pink and blotchy.

“Bless me, oh my Lord,” she moaned. “It’s too much, simply too much.”

“What’s the matter, Janice?” Dean asked, concerned.

Huge brown eyes swimming in tears met his. “Another person has gone too soon! What will become of us? When will it stop?”

“Was this someone you knew?” Cas pressed, his tone gentle.

“No,” Janice’s cheeks trembled as she shook her head. “It’s all so random!”

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“Just this morning, on my way out the door, I saw my neighbor Claire,” Janice warbled. “We always say good morning to each other. She has lovely daisies.”

Dean sensed rather than heard the low growl of frustration emanating from Cas. He stepped in before the situation became worse.

“What happened next?” He inquired, keeping his own annoyance in check.

“She said she heard from her niece Marlene-- the nice girl who lives on the south end of town-- that  _ she  _ had seen police cars and an ambulance parked right down the street!”

Cas began to protest, but Janice went on.

“Now I know what you’re thinking. Just because they had police cars and an ambulance, doesn’t mean someone died.  I said that too.”

As Janice was beginning to take a deep breath for the next part of her story, the door swung open. Byrony and Sam came tumbling in, rosy-cheeked from either the weather or their time together.

“Quit complaining,” Byrony was saying, her long purple-black ponytails swinging. “You know the vibration is good for your---”

She stopped suddenly, her hazel eyes going wide. “Ms. Janice! What’s wrong?”

Sam crowded up behind her, slumping slightly and allowing his hair to fall into his eyes.

“Karen Heffer is dead,” Janice pronounced mournfully, playing to her now-doubled audience.

“What?!?” Byrony gasped. “She’s only ten years older than me. What happened?”

“Janice was just explaining that her neighbor’s niece had seen an ambulance and police cars down the block,” Cas interjected, earning a raised eyebrow from Janice.

“Yes,” she proceeded with her story once everyone was focused on her. “I asked Claire how she knew someone was dead, and--” she paused for effect, then hissed, “--she said she saw the black morgue wagon pull up. And crime scene tape!”

“When was this?” Dean demanded.

“We know this is hard for you, but please try to remember,” Sam added, sending Dean a scathing look for his rough tactics.

“Claire just called the front desk a few minutes ago to tell me about the wagon,” Janice answered, dabbing at her drying eyes. “That’s why I was looking for you gentlemen. Byrony, what are you doing here so soon, dear? I thought your next visit with your parents was a few months out.”

“It’s a complicated story,” Byrony answered. “Thank you so much for your help, Ms. Janice!”

Sam, Dean, and Cas headed to the car while Byrony hung back to give the office lady a quick hug. 

“It’ll all work out,” she whispered to Janice encouragingly.

“Lord be with you on your journey,” Janice answered automatically, her face a little flushed from the unexpected contact.

She found the guys waiting in the car, Dean already revving Baby. She shrugged helplessly and threw herself into the backseat with Sam as Dean peeled out.

“She looked so sad,” Byrony said by way of explanation.

“It’s okay, Byrony,” Sam murmured, weaving a long arm around her shoulder. “It’s good for you to comfort her so she won’t be scared.”

“Waste of time, in my opinion,” Dean snorted. “That woman is scared of her own shadow.”

Byrony let out a shocked giggle as Sam began to protest.

“Dean is somewhat correct in his assessment,” Cas added. “She is a very unstable individual.”

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean turned to smile warmly. A sneaking suspicion began to grow in Sam’s gut.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas answered, and he was honest-to-God fluttering his eyelashes at Dean. 

Sam swallowed hard. What the actual fuck had been going on while he was in Peterborough? Byrony looked up at him and winked, taking his hand in hers, and his mind wandered to more pleasant things. Like the way their hands fit together so perfectly, his pulse thrumming along next to hers.

Thankfully, the ride to the southern side of town took less than ten minutes, and they arrived swiftly enough to catch the morgue van. The early morning sun cast a chill gray tint over the scene. Acres of scrubby grassland stretched under a white fence reinforced with electric wire. In the distance, Dean spotted some horses that made him slightly jealous of their warm, thick winter coats.

The angled driveway led directly into the hayloft of a ramshackle barn. In Dean’s estimation, it was at least 100 years old, and those years weren’t kind. It had been whitewashed at some point in the past, but most of that was peeling vigorously off the wooden slats. A few officers were crowded at the front end, keeping the inside from view. As the group headed up, Dean noticed the driveway split and led down along the bank of a hill. The nickering sound of horses carried loudly in the icy air.

As they reached the entrance of the barn, a thick, musty, acidic scent hit Dean smack in the face.

“Ugh!” He wrinkled his nose. “What  _ is _ that?!?”

“I believe the stalls have not been mucked recently,” Cas replied solemnly.

“Gross,” grumbled Dean. He made a note to watch his step carefully.

Burris met them at the door, his blue eyes sparkling. 

“You’re in luck,” he greeted. “Detective Kevin hasn’t gotten here yet! Go ahead and get a quick peek before he arrives.”

“Thanks,” Dean answered. He wished all law enforcement was as helpful as that guy had been.

Burris slid open a small door, allowing them entry. It was a studio apartment that was built into the hay loft. The poorly insulated windows and doors let in drafts, making the temperature inside barely warmer than it had been outside. The kitchen was so small that all of them couldn’t fit in it at once. Dean’s boots squelched slightly on the teal linoleum as he shifted to make room for Cas. Their shoulders brushed as Dean moved toward the hall. Even that slight brush brought a tiny thrill to Dean’s skin.

The hall was narrow and short, still covered in its original builder’s white. It opened abruptly to the one other room, which seemed to serve as a combination living room and bedroom.

The body was laying in the middle of the room, half out of the pull-out couch bed. Her head was on the floor in a pool of incongruously bright blonde hair. In life, the woman had probably been pretty big-boned, from the look of her. Thick strips of leathery skin hung loosely around her rib cage and hips. Her face was turned toward them, deep black eye sockets and bony jaw yawning open.

Byrony, to her credit, made no sound but tensed up slightly next to Sam. He inconspicuously laid his hand on the small of her back, and she relaxed. Sam noticed a rickety desk against the wall and an ancient Apple II computer. He strode over and scanned the haphazard pile of hand-labelled floppy disks: Wizard and the Princess, Bard’s Tale, and something that just said  Brøderbund. Some German thing? Probably not relevant considering it was from the late 1980s.

Piles of sand covered half the floor and the bedding, concealing one of the body’s legs from view. Cas moved closer to inspect it as Dean wandered to the opposite wall, taking a cursory glance at the books displayed on a wall shelf. Nothing from the occult, just a collection of shitty airport-quality Harlequin novels and one giant, dusty Bible. Ironic.

He was about to share that thought with the class when a very hairy, very fast spider squeezed under the door to the outside and headed straight for his feet.

Dean let out a sound he would later deny was a completely unmanly shriek.

Cas was there in an instant, crushing it under his heel.

The group gathered around to study the remains in horrified silence.

“Ugh,” Byrony keened.

“A wolf spider,” Cas noted coolly. “Fairly common in barns.”

“It’s like a baby tarantula,” Sam’s voice was strangled.

The thick legs spasmed, then pulled the rotund body back into the standing position. Dean moved behind Cas. For, you know, reasons.

“What the--” Byrony’s voice rose in disbelief.

Cas stomped down again, this time grinding his heel definitively.

There was a collective sigh of relief.

A half-second later, the deformed, bisected limbs were moving again, and this time, Cas stepped harshly on the spider and shoved it back under the wide gap between the door and the floor.

All waited in tense silence. A beat passed. Another. Just as Dean was taking a breath, a single, tenacious leg appeared, pulling the broken spider body after it in determination.

Cas eyed it with his piercing gaze. 

“This is the last time I show mercy,” he intoned solemnly to the insect. “Show your face again, and I will smite you where you stand.”

The leg spasmed and collapsed, and all was quiet.

“What in the Hell was that?!?” Dean demanded after a moment.

“I told you,” Cas answered flatly. “Wolf spiders are common. They are also a very hardy breed.”

This comment was met with a round of nervous titters.

“Did we get everything we need from this scene?” Dean asked, scanning the group. Vigorous nodding all around.

“Good,” he answered. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before his brothers come looking for him.”

They rushed out of the door, huddling and shivering. Burriss eyed their expressions with sympathy.

“Bad, huh?” nodded toward the apartment door.

“Indeed,” Cas agreed. The others nodded, wide-eyed.

Dean shuffled closer to Cas to get a better view of the street. He could see a few houses nearby, but most of the area was wooded and silent. The air was heavy and frigid, the early morning mist having dissipated, but heavy clouds still scudded close to the tree line. He could almost feel his breath crystallizing onto his lips.

A flash of movement caught Dean’s eye, and he grabbed Cas’ elbow, hauling him along.

“It’s that kid again!” He exclaimed, his muscles suddenly warm as he pelted down the driveway.

The boy spotted Dean over his shoulder and panicked, blue eyes widening in his pale, sharp face. He turned around and dashed away, dark curls streaming behind him as he tried to gain access to the road.  Dean was faster, having spent years chasing down all sorts of monsters, and a skinny ten-year-old was no match for him. With a burst of speed, he grasped the edge of his target’s hood and the kid was yanked back into his grip.

Dean held him by the collar the way a cat holds her kits, presenting him to Sam, Byrony, and Cas who had run up behind. The kid’s chest was heaving, and he stood slump-shouldered, peering down at his shoes.

“I  _ told _ you a kid was following us!” Dean beamed triumphantly. “I wasn’t delusional. Here he is.”

Sam squatted down, getting an angle on the kid’s face. “Not so rough, Dean,” he scolded. “Maybe he’s just curious.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” Dean protested, but lightened his hold a bit.

The Detective’s SUV was making its way down the driveway, and Dean sighed. “Sam, will you deal with Detective douchebag?  I’ll figure out what’s going on with Peter Pan.”

“Sure, man,” Sam shrugged. “Just be nice. He’s probably just a local.”

Dean nodded and paused to watch his brother lope off, Byrony trailing after. Despite the fact she was tiny, she seemed to be good for Sam. Dean had already caught a couple googly-eyed looks between the two, and he was happy for Sam. As long as it didn’t interfere with the case, it was all good.

The hunter’s green eyes narrowed as he focused his attention on the boy. He was tall but small-boned, chest heaving like a bird’s. A gangly, wire-muscled frame and shaggy hair that reminded him of Sam at that age. Fair skin, flushed from running, and blue eyes. Not icy-neon blue like Cas’ eyes. Just normal, everyday kid eyes. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he was just a local.

“Hey kid,” Dean began, softening his tone and squatting down, “It’s okay, we’re the FBI. You can tell us why you were around here.”

Silence. The kid’s eyes were locked on his shoes, his head down, his feet shuffling up dust.

“It’s all right,” Dean tried again, adjusting his hand so it rested lightly over the kid’s collarbone. “If something is bothering you, you can tell me. We’ll protect you. It’s what we do.”

Other than the shuffling and rapid breathing, the kid didn’t respond.  Dean looked at Cas helplessly.

“Is he deaf or something?” He asked softly, compassion tinging his voice. 

Cas shook his head. “I sense nothing wrong with this child’s senses, Dean. His language abilities are intact.”

“Huh,” Dean mused for a moment, then tried again. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

The kid bit his lip but didn’t look up.

“Is there someone we can call for you?” Dean pressed. “Mom? Dad?”

No response.

After a moment, inspiration hit Dean. “Are you staying with a relative here? Aunt or Uncle? Older brother?”

Blue eyes snapped up to his.

“I need my Sammy,” the kid whispered, his voice young and lisping, almost infantile.

Dean leaned forward slightly. “Is that your brother?”

The kid’s eyebrows furrowed, crowding together. Tears were beginning to gather in his eyes.

“I need my Sammy,” the kid whimpered, lower lip beginning to tremble.

“Okay, okay,” Dean comforted, not sure how to handle the sudden burst of emotion. “We’ll take you up the hill to those police officers; see if we can find your Sammy.”

He patted the kid’s bony shoulder awkwardly. “You know, I have a little brother named Sammy. He looked a lot like you when he was young.”

The kid nodded, following Dean willingly.

Sam was having problems of his own. The Detective had stormed out of his car and was trying to bowl over anyone and everything in his way.

“I heard there was a DB here,” Kevin had said, talking over Sam’s greeting and ignoring his outstretched hand.

“Yes,” Sam answered, keeping pace with his long legs. “I don’t know if you recall meeting me earlier--”

“--If you’ll excuse me, duty calls.” The Detective glanced away,

Sam noticed right away the guy didn’t look so hot. His normally olive skin was sallow, almost hanging off his cheekbones like wax. His hair was laying pasted against his forehead, which was beaded with sweat. Purple-blue circles underscored his yellow-green eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. The Detective’s uniform shirt had been buttoned haphazardly and looked as though he had fished it out of the bottom of the laundry bag.

The Detective had plowed right on past Dean, Cas, and the kid without sparing them a glance, something that seemed unusual for a man who prided himself on being able to assess a situation completely and take charge. His barrel chest was higher than ever as he strode up to the group of officers, something Sam wondered if the Detective did subconsciously to cover up for anxiety or feelings of inadequacy.

Officer Burriss greeted them, stammering as he gave his report.

“The vic was found at four o'clock this morning by a stable hand--”

“Step aside, Burriss,” Detective Kevin commanded, his voice a strained monotone.

“Of course, sir, but I thought you’d wanna--”

“Step aside!” The Detective boomed, and the crowd of officers scuttled away meekly.

With a huff, the Detective shrugged his shoulders and pulled the door open. Sam waited a beat before following him in. Kevin was standing in the middle of the room, thick hands grasping at his sides around empty air.

“It can’t be,” he whispered, seeming unaware of Sam’s presence.

The big man moved forward carefully, his steps soft and measured. He knelt beside the pullout couch, one hand hovering millimeters over the corpse’s blonde hair.

“Karen?” His voice was choked and full of sorrow.

Sam began to turn away, wanting to give the detective a moment of privacy, when Kevin jumped back up again and began to pace the scant feet between the window and the opposite wall. His dark head was down; his frame almost vibrating fury.

“How could he do this!?” The Detective hissed, balling his fists as he paced.

“Who?” Sam asked, but took a step back, hoping not to get hit if the Detective took a swing.

Mercifully, the man ignored him, continuing to pace his vicious, narrow cycle.

“Why would he do this?!” Kevin wailed, his eyes far away. “I told him, anyone he needed, anyone in this town but her!”

His broad, tanned hands came up, tangled into his black hair in a fit of anguish. The Detective whirled to face the body again.

“I said, NOT HER!” He screamed.

Sam barely flattened himself against the wall as the man tore out of the room, his bulky shoulders pushing painfully along the hunter’s ribs as he passed. Sam turned and bolted after him, slamming the door open as he left.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% exposition and storyline. Dean, Cas, Sam and Byrony investigate a new crime scene and discover some new clues. Some fluffy feels, POV Byrony, and deductive reasoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end now! As always, thanks for the lovely comments and kudos, they make my day. ;-)

Byrony stood waiting outside the door when Sam followed the Detective inside. She wasn’t interested in another run-in with those creepy wolf spiders, and besides, she could use some time to think. Her mind was spinning in circles, but she felt there was an idea somewhere in the mix. She could see it if she just took a moment to concentrate.

_ How did I get here? _ , She asked herself. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had come back to visit her parents, her usual habit when she had a few days off. She’d been a normal person with a regular job, apartment, and friends. Despite her unconventional hair color and style choices, she still fit in, more or less. She went to work, paid her bills, and spent time relaxing on her days off. Then Sam had literally fallen into her day.

It had been like a shock of cold water to her system. In retrospect, her time before Sam and after Sam was sharply delineated, with the past feeling like a vague dream. An endless stretch of time she made efforts to fill with mundane pursuits. But this was her chance to break out of that, break free. Make an actual difference to people. Sure, being a CNA made a difference to her patients, and she may have been content doing that before. Now, the opportunity to do something great, to  _ save the world _ (no matter how corny  _ that _ sounded), hung before her and damned if she wasn’t going to jump for it.

Her bond with Sam had been instantaneous. The moment his eyes had met hers, she knew he was meant for her. He was hers. Down to every last detail, as if she had taken long moments considering the perfect man (and who didn’t do  _ that _ ?). 

Part of her should have been cynical, the larger part of her might have just continued walking away. But then there was Nana’s journal, proof, resting heavy in her hands, that the world Sam lived in was real. The life of a hero was possible, and she wanted it. Wanted Sam, no matter where it led or what it meant. Anything else was irrelevant, as long as each moment from now on was with him.

Having settled that in her mind, Byrony moved her considerable powers of focus on to the question at hand. There was a connection between this crime scene and the last. As random as they seemed, there must be something tying them together. She could almost feel the answer, forming in the back of her mind. She would find it, she could solve it. Sam needed it.  _ Her boys _ , as she had quickly begun to think of them, needed it.

_ From the beginning, then _ , she told herself. The theft of coins at the museum. A few months pass with no movement on the case, but also no further thefts from the museum and no major crimes. Then Sam, Dean, and Cas arrive. Suddenly, things pick up as they begin to investigate. “Frag” Caulder, local comic book store owner, dies. No obvious links between him and the theft at the museum. Jennifer Aven dies; she had a link to the museum since she was the curator and was holding possible display items in her house. Then, Karen Heffer dies, again with no seeming attachment to the case. From this angle, it almost seemed like Dean, Sam, and Cas were responsible.

She scrubbed her mental whiteboard, began again. When she spoke to Sam in Peterborough, he was focusing on the manuscript in the museum. She had told him the story on the manuscript, but it hadn’t seemed relevant to the case at the time. Could that be the key? Perhaps. Byrony was new to this whole hunting thing, but this felt like an unexplored lead. She was unsure of how the story could help the boys, but she made a mental note to bring it up again when they were all together. 

There was also that mysterious kid. He could be just some spying local, or he could be involved somehow. The addition of a child confused the whole case for Byrony. Why would a kid be involved in a museum theft? She knew a lot of kids went to the comic store, but that seemed like a thin thread since it only linked back to the comic book store owner and nothing else. Maybe Dean would figure something out during his chat with the kid.

Just then, Detective Kevin came bursting through the door of the apartment, nearly bowling over the officers surrounding the area. His head was down, face flushed, as he moved purposefully toward his SUV. The door slammed open again, Sam coming skidding after.

“He’s involved somehow,” Sam told Byrony. “Let’s grab Dean. We gotta follow him, see where he leads.”

Byrony nodded agreement and followed Sam down the hill. The Detective was climbing in his car, but didn’t seem hurried; he was more purposeful. His movements were swift and definite as he buckled in and started the SUV.

Dean looked up from the kid, caught sight of the Detective, and gestured his chin toward the car.

“Sam, Cas!” He called. The group fell in after him.

They waited for the black SUV to back out and move down the way a bit, so it wouldn’t be obvious they were following. Dean swung into his seat, shoving the kid in the back after Sam.

“We can’t leave him here,” Dean said over Sam’s protests. “He’s looking for someone. The locals won’t be able to protect him from whatever is killing these people.”

“Can  _ we _ ?” Sam sputtered. “We’re taking him into the eye of the storm, Dean!”

The kid had snuggled in, two thin arms wrapped tightly around one of Sam’s.

“Maybe so,” Dean acknowledged, “But you know as well as I do that he’s safer with us. Besides, I’d like to see you try to get him untangled now.”

Sam had to concede the point. The kid was burrowed deep: hands, knees, and legs creating a bony pretzel. They didn’t have time to talk the kid down. He sighed, and Byrony slid in, sandwiching the boy between them. Dean revved up Baby and drove her up the road.

“I had a thought while I was waiting for Sam,” Byrony introduced, feeling oddly nervous when Cas turned slightly in his seat to peer directly at her.

“Go on, Byrony,” Cas encouraged, and Byrony felt a thankful warmth blossom in her stomach.

“I was just wondering if Sam had been able to tell you the story written on the manuscript,” she continued.

“Not exactly,” Sam answered. “We got kind of distracted by the new bodies.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Besides, I’m not sure what it has to do with the case. Local lore is all good, but is it relevant?”

“I was thinking that it may be,” Byrony said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “And if the Detective is going where I think he is, I’ll have time to tell you all about it now.”

Cas turned his head forward and shared a look with Dean. 

“More information may help us determine what we’re after,” the low voice rumbled.

“Byrony’s got a good handle on the history of the town,” Sam added. “She was a big help with research.”

Dean’s leather-clad shoulders shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Let’s hear it.”

“All right,” Byrony said and settled down to tell the story.

The kid shuffled slightly and peered at her with curious eyes.

“I’ve already told you the manuscript is the written form of a story that was an oral tradition. This makes it incredibly ancient. It’s a series of stories that probably happened around the same time that Babylon was an empire, or possibly even before. Many of the stories come from different lands, but most are referring to the same person. It’s kind of complicated, but I think of it like one person with many aliases.”

She paused for breath as they hit a stop light. The Detective was several cars up, painstakingly following the traffic signs and signals. Good. They still had more than ten minutes.

“So that’s the setting,” Byrony continued. “Think ancient desert, where all they have for entertainment is sitting around listening to stories and songs.”

“I’m so glad the radio and internet were invented,” Dean quipped but was subdued by an icy look from Cas.

“There once was a thief,” Byrony said, her voice taking on the habitual lilt she used when reading stories to her patients. “For many years, he was not successful, and lived on scraps, barely scrounging in the streets.”

“So, a sucky thief,” Dean summed up.

“Yes,” Byrony acknowledged. “Some stories say the thief fell in love but needed status to woo his lady. Others say he became greedy. Some say he wanted to build his reputation. No matter the reason, the thief decided to find a great treasure that he had heard rumors about.”

“That never ends well,” Dean muttered, receiving a poke to the ribs from Cas.

“Pretty much never,” Byrony agreed, “But this thief was young and foolhardy, so he looked for his prize. Now, this great treasure was famous near and far, and many had searched for it. Many had died in their quest for it.”

Cas spoke up as Byrony took another breath. “If many had died, this treasure must have been great indeed.”

“Oh, it was,” Byrony nodded. “Not only that, it was rumored this particular treasure held an elixir. The one that consumed it would be given eternal youth.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean turned slightly, green eyes lighting on Cas. “Is that even possible?”

Cas considered. “In our brief time together, Dean, I have seen many things that I didn’t think were possible happen right before my eyes.”

“There are a lot of myths all over the world about eternal youth,” Sam mused. “Abrahamic faiths, the Norse, Greeks and Romans, even the Hindus spoke of it.”

“Just because there’s a myth about people staying young forever doesn’t mean it’s true,” Dean pointed out, shifting testily. “Are we thinking someone was searching for this thing now?”

“Yes,” Byrony answered. “In fact, I think that Detective Kevin may have been trying to find the elixir. He knew the story like we all did. Maybe he took it more seriously than the rest.”

Dean glanced skeptically at Byrony in the rearview mirror. 

“That guy’s a douche, but he didn’t seem crazy. A dude would have to have a screw loose to think something like that was true.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Sam offered. “Maybe he thought it was just a story like everyone else until the coins came to the museum.”

Byrony nodded. 

“That’s what I was thinking. That the Detective knew about the coins, maybe even before they were put on display. The building’s owned by his mother, she probably told him about them. She would have been excited to display something referred to directly in the manuscript.”

“So he waits for them to be on display, then nabs them so he won’t be the only suspect. Not bad,” Dean admitted.

Byrony smiled, pleased at Dean’s approval of the logic.

“But what happened to the thief in the manuscript?” Cas inquired. “Surely he was successful in his quest for the treasure, or else the Detective wouldn’t think it could be possible to find it.”

“He was successful,” Byrony answered. “At least, that’s the way the story goes in town. The thief found the great treasure and drank the elixir. He obtained eternal youth.”

“Well, if someone already had eternal youth, why would Detective Kevin go after it?” Dean asked.

“There’s still the rest of the treasure,” Sam reasoned. “And maybe he’s hoping the youth thing could be transferred to him.”

“My question is: why steal the coins and not just cash out?” Byrony asked. “I’m guessing those things were worth a pretty penny all on their own.”

This threw the car into a thoughtful silence. Dean was still following the Detective, keeping a generous length between the vehicles on the winding country road.

“Maybe he needed the coins,” Sam said, his voice thoughtful.

“For what?” Dean wondered. “How could they help him?”

Cas tilted his head thoughtfully. 

“There’s a possibility that the Detective could have used the coins to summon the thief,” he reasoned slowly. “We often use things that have been touched by a creature to summon it.”

“And once the thief is summoned, Douchebag gets the treasure,” Dean interjected. “Wham, bam, thank you.”

“We’re getting close,” Byrony cautioned.

Indeed, the black SUV was slowing down, turning into a familiar parking lot.

“The museum?” Dean thought for a moment. “Of course, that’s where he would have summoned the thief in the first place.”

“Byrony, I need you to think hard about this thief person,” Sam urged as his body suddenly grew tense. “Is he dangerous? Do any of the stories tell about how to kill him?”

Byrony hesitated as they watched the Detective storm up the walk and tear down the crime scene tape that barred the entry.

“I know he’s dangerous,” she said quickly. “Not many of the stories show him dying. But he’s often defeated. Other characters in the story outwit him sometimes.”

The car fell into silence as Dean parked close by. 

“Guess that means take all the usual,” the hunter shrugged, opening the trunk.

Byrony peered in.

_ Holy shit _ . If she hadn’t already thrown her lot in with Sam, she’d have hightailed it right then. It was like a picture out of a true-crime novel. Symbols in a crazy, freaky-looking language spray-painted on the underside of the trunk lid. She peered closer. Was that a pentagram?!? That was disturbing enough, not even considering the piles of wicked-looking knives, shotguns, and machetes. Then there was a mysterious clay jug full of sloshing liquid and a giant bag of salt. What the fuck had she signed up for? She closed her eyes briefly and jumped in, helping Dean hand things to Sam and Cas.

Once armed, Sam pulled her in.

“Stay close to me,” he whispered. She began to protest. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you are a badass because I know you can handle yourself,” he reassured. “I just want to make sure we stay together.”

“And you have experience,” she grinned back.

The kid had disentangled his arms and legs from Sam, but remained nearby, moving in an uneven orbit as Sam moved.

“Looks like he’s going with you,” Dean noted. “Cas and I will go first. You two cover the rear.”

Sam nodded, accepting his position with grace. He knew there was no point in endangering Byrony and the kid just to look like the hero.

Byrony checked her knives last, and Sam took a moment to show her how to draw them without cutting herself. He demonstrated twice, then stood back and watched, making sure she was doing it correctly. She drew them smoothly from their place at the small of her back after a few tries. At Sam’s nod, Byrony felt a flash of pride, then took her place at the rear.

* * *

 

The door to the museum gaped open, and Dean took a moment to survey the area carefully, his shoulder against the wall and gun ready. Once the rest were in position, he craned his neck to get a peek at the interior. Nothing moved along the shadowy hall. He glanced at Cas, who shook his head. The coast was clear.

Dean and Cas swung in tandem into the hall, their bodies mirroring each other. Each movement was synchronized from years of partnership, honed by reliance and trust. Dean stole a look at Cas and grinned. The angel was in his element, eyes glowing and blade raised. Dean adjusted his grip on his gun as the hallway opened into the larger area containing the front desk.

Nothing here. He scanned the shadows as Sam moved in with the kid, closing the distance to Cas and situating himself to guard the entryway. Byrony came after, her twin knives brandished, her motions carefully copying Sam’s. She took a position directly opposite the younger hunter and behind Dean, her grin shining in the dark.

Dean checked the hall to the right and didn’t see much, so he nodded Cas into place. Tension hummed within the group as they moved with incremental steps. The air was stale and silent, the familiar musty scent strange to Byrony. It was so weird to see the museum this way. Empty and cold, with no family groups idling along. No bossy moms stopping to read every plaque. No slumping teens rolling their eyes at questions. No tiny, sticky hands trailing along from the pre-k group; no sing-song scolding or clapping games to keep their noise down.

The first display was exactly as Dean, Sam, and Cas had left it. The empty central display, standing lonely on its pedestal. The walls and shelves still organized and dated, facing voicelessly into the room. Dean took a moment to scan around, then let his held breath escape.

“Guess not,” he whispered and turned to go back down the hall.

The others followed quietly, repeating the movements of before. The second display held no answers either. Dean strode to the center of the room, empty palms swinging in the air.

“Now what?” He asked, making less effort to hush his voice. “He couldn’t just disappear into thin air.”

Sam began to circle the room, thumping along the walls for hidden passages.

Cas tilted his head, considering. “Is this the entire building, Byrony? It looked larger from the outside.”

“This is the whole museum,” she answered. “But there’s a gift shop downstairs.”

“Let’s try there,” Dean decided, turning away.

“Wait,” Cas said, hooking his hand onto Dean’s arm. “Do you remember our conversation about that weapon?”

Dean turned back, brow furrowed, as he looked at the central display. “Yeah, Cas. But you said it probably didn’t have any use.”

“It may not,” Cas agreed. “Still, it would be a shame to not take a possible weapon with us.”

“Man after my own heart,” Dean grinned.

Sam wrinkled his nose and made a face, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Gross, you two. Get a room.”

“But Sam--” Cas began, but Dean interrupted.

“--Let’s get movin’, people,” he commanded, gesturing. “Before this guy has a chance to finish summoning whatever the hell he’s summoning.”

Cas nodded and used his angel blade to shatter the glass casing over the dagger. Byrony winced inwardly, but the angel seemed unhurt as he grasped the hilt and handed it to Dean.

“Cool,” the hunter grinned, shoving it into his belt at the back.

 


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle ensues! Dean, Cas, Sam and Byrony encounter the thing that's been terrorizing the town this whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to get done! Anyway, thank you so much for being patient. I added a tiny bit of Destiel smut because you've been such good boys and girls. Enjoy! And I may add another chapter as a postlude/wrap up in a couple days. I left some wiki stuff for you to explain my "research" lol. No spoilers until after you read!! And as always, you are amazing and your comments/kudos make me smile.

At the head of the stairs, Dean paused the group for a moment of whispered planning. Byrony had explained that the gift shop has two entrances: one here at the head of the stairs, which was narrow and mostly used by the employees, and the second, a wider door at the bottom of the hill. Since the kid was still hanging close to Sam, the group decided that Dean and Cas will enter through the narrow door, while Sam enters in the wider one. Byrony and the kid would be protected from the line of fire when Sam closed the door. 

This plan was agreed upon with almost little argument, and Dean was pleased with how well their group seems to work together already like they’ve been training for years. Well, he, Sam and Cas have worked together for years, but Byrony is new. She seemed to be already showing a natural propensity for moving quietly. She listened intently, offered her opinion respectfully, and seemed to accept orders better than Sam. The older hunter found himself hoping Sam will keep her around awhile. He’s growing fond of the punk-rock little badass.

As they waited for Sam’s group to get into position, Cas glided forward so his chest was almost pressed against Dean’s back. Dean shivered minutely, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

“You’re being kinda distracting, Cas,” he whispered, his voice already hoarse with longing.

“You were distracting first,” the angel replied, causing thrilling vibrations to run down Dean’s spine. “Standing there looking so delicious.”

Dean bit his lip, turned his head away.

Cas took the opportunity to nip gently just under his ear, the tender skin warm and sweet.

“C’mon, we gotta focus,” Dean pleaded uselessly. The constant magnet worked in his core, pulling his hips backward towards Cas.

“I find it very attractive when you give orders,” mused Cas as he ran his lips lightly up and down Dean’s neck.

“I find it even more attractive--” the angel paused, shifted closer so his lips were on Dean’s ear “-- to see you  _ take _ orders.”

Oh God. Dean’s heart, which had been moving along at a respectable clip already, doubled its pace. His lungs suddenly tightened as his head fell back against Cas’ shoulder. His hips had a mind of their own, circling, rubbing, moving in short, needy thrusts.

“Ah,” Cas’ whisper broke into his thoughts. “I see you like that idea. Do you want to take orders from me, Dean?”

Dean bit his lip hard, barely smothering the moan he could feel building. A fiery blush was already heating his cheeks.

“Yes,” he replied, thrilling as Cas’ hands landed on his hips. Dean’s cock is straining already, sensitive skin rubbing harshly against the cotton of his briefs.

“Yes…?” The angel’s hands moved away minutely, and Dean couldn’t help but whimper.

“Yes, sir,” the hunter gasped finally, and the hands returned firmly to his hips in reward.

“Good,” the angel’s voice thrummed into Dean’s chest. “We will explore that later.”

And just like that, the touch was gone, and Cas had moved to his side again, blue eyes crinkling with amusement. Dean huffed in frustration, gave his shoulders a shake, adjusted himself briefly. Goddamn crazy angels giving people boners in inappropriate situations.

Cas loftily ignored the glare Dean shot at him and took his position beside the door. Dean listened carefully, and hearing nothing, tried the knob cautiously.

It was unlocked. Huh. Either a trap or the Detective was too distraught to lock it. Dean was betting on the second, but he was ready for the first.

He swung the door open and stepped in, scanning the darkness with the flashlight he held alongside his gun. All he saw was the concrete steps, a less-than-stable railing, and the concrete at the bottom of the stair. The rest was hidden in the gloom.

At the third step down, Dean ducked, remembering Byrony’s warning that the ceiling here is quite low. He felt his hair skim the supports anyway and felt relieved he’d been warned. Smacking his head here would ensure a sharp crack to the skull and a really embarrassing trip down the rest of the stairs.

It was only three more steps down, and the area opened up in front of them to a large room. The light from Dean’s flashlight hit the main door to the right (where Sammy would come in), a few round tables holding displays, and a counter along the wall to the left with the cash register. About ten feet around the far wall had been cleared, and the Detective was kneeling there with his back to them, seeming unaware of their presence yet.

The wall was covered with writing. Some of it Dean recognized as the same wards Cas had used to hide them from the eyes of the angel dicks in the past. That explained why Cas hadn’t been able to sense what was going on down here earlier. He glanced at the angel, who nodded back. Cas could still access his power down here, despite the sigils. That was a relief.

The other symbols seemed like summoning symbols to Dean. He wasn’t the scholar of the group, but he recognized a few from other summoning spells they’d done in the past. Others looked a lot like the language on the manuscript, but he couldn’t tell that for sure.

Detective Kevin was kneeling in front of some creepy-looking cauldron because people always use creepy-looking cauldrons to summon shit from other worlds. Of course, there were candles, which were posted at irregular intervals but seem to give the dude enough light to see. Dean caught the glint of something that may have been tools or weapons, but he wasn’t close enough to see for sure.

The hunter gestured for Cas to keep an eye on the Detective and moved to the larger entrance, cracking the door open silently. Sam slipped in, Byrony and the kid coming after. Dean rolled his eyes. So much for following orders. 

Just then, the Detective finished doing whatever he was doing and slumps forward into a trance. He remained on his knees, but his head rested on his chest. Dean knew from experience that the shit was about to go down, and moved to the front with Cas, his gun ready. Byrony and the kid huddled down below one of the tables behind Sam.

A blast of baking, dry heat shoved past them, carried on an eerie wind. Bits of sand kicked up along the back wall like demons, sparkling sharply in the candlelight. The symbols on the wall were writhing, vibrating so hard they made Dean’s eyes itch, but he glared at them, refusing to blink. Fuck that, he wasn’t going to be bullied by some bullshit wall writing.

Just as Dean was thinking he better blink before that guy from the Visine commercial showed up, an ominous boom echoed through the building. The Detective continued to sway in his trance A giant crack split the plaster like a lightning bolt, and the edges crumbled away into sand. Beyond the crack, Dean saw constellations spinning in the dizzying dark. His breath rushed out of his panicked lungs.

There was a moment of tense, absolute silence. A breath held interminably long, ribs aching, the world spinning into the final deep. And then, a dusty, well-worn, brown leather boot appeared; someone stepping in through the crack. It was followed by a leg and a second boot. The legs were covered in off-white cotton, knees scudded from pressing into sand. Hands appeared next, gripping onto the wall with copper-dark, agile fingers. No rings, but bare, muscled arms. Shoving a rippling, tanned torso and neck through, and last, a dark, curly head.

Air rushed back into the room as Dean realized a man had just climbed through some interdimensional portal the way he’d climb through a hole in a fence. It was insane and unbelievable. The hunter glanced over at the angel. Cas is wide-eyed, as incapable of an explanation as he was himself.

The man stood there, completely at ease, hands open at his side. His white cotton pants were held to his waist by a thick brown leather belt. There was a broad, curving sword in a sheath on his right hip. His faintly-scarred chest was bare except for a necklace at his throat, something like an hourglass. His head was up, chin tilted, like a man who is used to owning the room and everything in it. His face was handsome; agreeable.

“Greetings,” he said, voice warm, inviting. There was an accent to it, something soft and full of sibilance, reminiscent of desert sands shifting.

“Uh,” Dean stepped forward, cleared his throat. Immediately, the man fixed him with blue eyes. They were clear and untroubled, like a Caribbean sea.

Dean shifted a little, but no one else seemed to be talking, so he pushed on.

“So..who the fuck are you?” He asked the guy.

The man quirked an eyebrow. 

“Is it customary to greet one another with such language?” He asked, humor sparking in his eyes. “I have many names, but I think you only have one.”

“My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean replied. “Why don’t you tell me one of your names, see if it rings a bell? Or do you just go by a symbol, like Prince?”

The man considered this for a moment.

“Some have called me that,” he nodded. “I have silenced the Detective for now,” he continued. “He is angry. But I think we should speak.”

There was a shifting behind Dean.

“Ah!” The man exclaimed, smiling and extending his arms. “You have found it! Excellent!”

“Found what?” Asked Dean.

There was a shuffle, and then the kid ran up to the guy and knelt eagerly.

“You let him go!” Dean’s voice suddenly dropped to a growl. What kind of creeper used kids and referred to them as objects?

“Him?” The man looked confused; looked at the kid. “Oh. You mean Shoe.”

The kid nodded happily, grinned at Dean. Dean’s heart sank into his gut. If this kid was happy, his heart was going to break when Dean ganked this dude. He was not looking forward to that moment.

The man was watching Dean, not in a creepy way, just observing him.

“What are you doing with that kid?” Dean demanded. “Are you the one that killed those people and left their bodies all over the town?”

The dark head bowed as the man looks down. “That was an unavoidable tragedy.”

“How was it unavoidable?” Dean’s voice was harsh. “You don’t  _ have _ to kill people! There is always a choice!”

“I see that now,” the man answered, his voice troubled. “But at the beginning, my reasoning was sound.”

“Explain it to me,” the hunter requested, taking a step forward. “Maybe there wasn’t another way.”

“There was,” the man answered. “But I will explain how this happened anyhow, so that you may learn from my mistake.”

Dean nodded briefly, crossing his arms.

“I am a thief, or I was one. Long ago, I traveled the ancient lands, searching for a famous treasure.”

“Seriously?” Dean snarked. “You expect me to believe you’re the same thief on the manuscript? You look like you’re twenty-three, dude. That was thousands of years ago.”

“The answer to that question is in my story if you listen,” the man replied with a smile. “But time is not always as straight of a river as people thinks.”

“Okay, Yoda,” Dean muttered. “Get to the point.”

“As I was saying, I was a thief. I am often called Ala-dein, the Prince, or Sind-bad. I searched for a treasure, and after many adventures, I found it.”

Dean remained silent with an effort. He wanted to question this crazy story, but if he listened, maybe he could find a weakness in this motherfucker.

After a beat, the man continued. “I found the treasure deep in a cave in the desert. And true to life, it contained a cup, which I drank. Immediately, I was consumed by light.”

Cas inhaled sharply, and Dean glanced over. The angel seemed to be thinking furiously.

“Indeed,” Ala-dein went on, “the liquid in that cup had been touched by God. It changed me forever, crafted the being that stands here today.”

With a gesture, Ala-dein cleared the angel warding from the wall, and Cas blinked.

“It must be,” the angel’s voice echoed in the shadows. “I had forgotten this. It was so long ago.”

“What?” Dean asked, his voice tense.

“God blessed a cup of wine long ago as a gift for one of his blessed followers,” Cas answered slowly. “The angels were about to deliver it when God took him up to heaven as a reward instead. The cup was hidden away from mortal eyes in a cave, along with other things not meant to be found by humans.”

“What kind of blessing was it? Eternal life?” The hunter asked.

“It’s just as Ala-dein says,” Cas explained. “It changed his physical makeup. Instead of being human and living his allotted time, he lives forever.”

“Restate that in hunting terms,” Dean hissed.

“We brought the wrong weapons, Dean,” Cas turned to face the hunter. “He’s a trickster.”

“A trickster? Like Gabriel?” Dean found his tone escalating to sarcasm. “Awesome.”

“The Messenger became a trickster?” Ala-dein burst into laughter. “How delightful!”

“I’m glad you find it amusing--” Dean retorted.

“--But Gabriel was only posing as your kind,” finished Cas. “Tell me, trickster, why are you here?”

The man nodded toward Detective Kevin, still slumping nearby in his trance. “The human summoned me. He wished to find the treasure. I told him it was not for him, but he insisted. Bound me to those coins.”

“So he wanted money and you gave it to him,” Dean summed up. “What about the dead people? Did you do Detective Kevin’s dirty work, too?”

“No,” Ala-dein’s voice is sad. “That was necessary when you arrived. I recognized you and your brother, hunter. I knew you would find me. I thought if I could erase my presence, you would not come to kill me.”

“You recognized us?” Dean asked. “From where?”

“Years ago,” the man said, nodding toward the kid. “I was somewhere south of here, entertaining myself with mischief. An item landed in my territory at the time.”

“An  _ item _ ?” Fury heated Dean’s face. “He’s a  _ kid _ , goddamn it! Not some...  _ thing _ you can shove around!”

“Dean” Cas rumbled. “Remember trickster magic is an illusion. Things are not always what they seem.”

Ala-dein gestured, and the air shimmered. The kid vanished, and a sneaker dropped out of thin air, landing wetly onto the concrete.

“What the--” Sam began.

“What did you do?!?” Dean shouted. “Bring him back right now, asshole, or so help me, I will find a stake and shove it so far up your ass---”

“No need for threats,” the man soothed, and with his gesture, the kid was back again. Normal as ever.

“Was that… my shoe?” Sam wondered. His voice was dazed.

The kid’s head snapped around and he ran back to Sam, giggling. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!”

“Too fuckin weird,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam looked up, confused, as the kid wrapped his arms around him and began to babble and giggle.

“So,” Dean huffed out, “You saw us years ago when Sammy lost his… shoe.”

“Yes,” Ala-dein confirmed.

“But you left us alone,” Dean pointed out. “Why not leave us alone now?”

“You weren’t hunting me then,” Ala-dien said like it was the most reasonable thing in the universe.

“But now…?” Dean trailed off.

“You are hunting me, are you not?” Ala-dein tilted his head, and it was so much like Cas it was bizarre. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t just land down here in this basement by accident.”

“So we came to solve the coin case, and you felt threatened,” Sam added, finally getting the kid to release him.

“Yes,” Ala-dein nodded eagerly. “I am so glad you understand!”

“And…” Sam gestured vaguely at the kid. “My… shoe?”

“Oh,” Ala-dein grinned mischievously. “I had the most wonderful idea to use that to spy on you. The trouble is, it remembers belonging to you. It got caught, naughty thing.”

The kid hid slightly behind Sam.

“You made my shoe.. into a  _ kid _ ?” Sam reiterated, trying to understand the logic.

“Of course!” Ala-dien’s laugh echoed through the room. “I chose something you’d never suspect. A child.”

“You’re a monster,” Sam growled.

The trickster smiled tightly, then gestured. All except for Sam froze in their places.

“Tell me, hunter, how was your week?” He asked.

Sam suddenly tumbled to the floor, landing on his hands and knees in the sand.

“Did you find your balance?” Ala-dein mocked as the sand retreated.

“You asshole!” the hunter retorted. “That was you?”

“Of course!” The trickster answered gleefully.

Sam struggled to a stand but found his wallet flying from his pocket like a demented bat.

“I thought that was clever,” Ala-dein continued as the wallet returned itself neatly at Sam’s feet.

“Why do this?” Sam demanded, shaking sand out of his wallet and returning it to his pocket.

“Why not?” The trickster retorted. “Might as well enjoy myself while I’m being hunted.”

Books appeared in the air, snapping sharply around Sam as he smacked them away. Cas’ eyes were glowing, but he couldn’t escape the trickster’s bond. Sam’s face was flushed, his hair sticking to his face.

“Seems like a pretty douchey move to me,” Sam spat out. “Torturing someone who doesn’t have a clue who you are.”

“But you did know, didn’t you?” Ala-dein’s voice grew angry. “Somewhere in the depths of that hunter brain, you suspected.”

Sam suddenly spasmed forward, hot sickness roiling in his gut. 

“Stop this!” He yelled. “Quit using magic and fight me!”

The air stilled, then came alive with the humming of a thousand wasps. Sam’s heart stuttered in his chest at the memory of the sound.

“Surely,” Ala-dein hissed, “I don’t have to remind you how I fight?”

“Enough!” Cas yelled, shaking free of the trickster’s bond.

The trickster dismissed the wasps with a nod and they fell to the floor, turning into pools of sand at Sam’s feet. The group stood in shocked silence for a moment as Ala-dein seemed to regain his composure.

“I apologize for that display,” he said after a moment. “You see how I feel about being hunted.”

“So what about all the dead people who weren’t hunters?” Dean wanted to know. “You just dropping bodies for fun?”

“I already told you,” Ala-dein answered softly. “I had to erase the proof.”

“But…” Dean fumed. “Those are  _ people _ ! You can’t just kill them!”

Ala-dein hesitated slightly. “But there was a book, a brightly-colored book, that would have led you directly to me. I had to destroy it. The man was just in the way.”

“You killed Frag over a  _ comic book _ ?!?” Byrony burst out, moving into view with her knives brandished. “He was harmless. You  _ are _ an asshole, and I am going to enjoy killing you.”

The man spread his hands. “Please, calm down! I wish you no harm. And anyway, it wasn’t me that killed him exactly. It was my soldier.”

“You have soldiers?” Dean groused. “Freakin’ fabulous.”

“Of course I do,” Ala-dein answered haughtily. “I am the general of an army. Behold!”

He gestured at the sand with his hand, and the pile whipped up, forming legs, torso, arms and hands at dizzying speed. A cracked and yellow skull tilted its face to them, dark pits boring into the dark. Strips of leathery skin hung from bones that clacked eerily as the thing stepped forward. It was dragging a curving metal sword behind it, its abdomen filled with glowing dust.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean whispered in disgust.

“The remains of my army,” Ala-dein’s voice is hollow. “They are as numerous as the sand; eternal and lifeless.”

“That’s horrible,” Byrony’s voice was thick. “Don’t you think they want to rest?”

“Don’t you think  _ I _ want to?!?” Ala-dein retorted, rounding on her. “Can you imagine the madness I walk through?”

With a wave of Ala-dein’s hand, the thing came lurching forward. Dean fired a shot, but it lumbered on, unhampered. Cas stepped up to it, brandishing his angel blade. Despite its wizened appearance, the soldier turned and lashed out with blistering speed, its sword ringing as Cas blocked. The two circled each other warily, the angel’s eyes glowing with grace.

After a moment, Ala-dein gestured, freezing the soldier mid-step. “Must we continue this pointless fight? When one falls, two rise.”

“So?” Byrony challenged hotly. “You don’t care, they aren’t even people to you.”

Ala-dein twisted the fingers of his hand slightly, and the sand slithered around Byrony, forming five new monsters armed with gleaming swords.

“Do you claim to know my struggle?” The trickster asked calmly. “Have you lived beyond your years, your parents’ years? Your friends’? Have you watched the endless shuffle each generation makes before death? Do you wish to join their eternal ranks so you may know my madness?”

“No,” Byrony whispered, horrified.

The trickster’s hands dropped to his side and the soldiers fell back into the sand.

“So, Jennifer Aven died because she had more things from the museum,” Sam continued, hoping to turn the focus from Byrony. “But why this last victim? What did she have that could bring us to you?”

“Ah, the one thing I could not erase without killing her,” Ala-dein sighed. “Knowledge.”

“Karen,” the Detective moaned but remained unmoving.

“I broke my word,” Ala-dein’s eyes dropped to the floor. “But she held the key in her mind. If you hunters had spoken to her, she would have known of my presence.”

“What key?” Dean demanded hoarsely. “That place had nothing in it!”

“There was a link there,” Ala-dein insisted. “I saw my image in her mind. It was tiny, but she knew my face.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said slowly. “She  _ knew _ you? Like she knew who you were?”

“The story was in her mind,” the trickster shrugged. “It was familiar to her.”

“A tiny image,” Sam mused. “Small: a man running in a maze?”

“Yes!” Ala-dein nodded. “I saw myself struggle, and end in many pitfalls.”

“Jesus Christ,” Byrony exclaimed, “you killed a woman… because of a  _ video game _ .”

“As I said before,” the trickster began, “It wasn’t me--”

“You killed her!” Detective Kevin broke through his trance and struggled up, wielding a thick piece of wood like a baseball bat. “I told you when this started, anyone but her!”

Ala-dien’s blue eyes rested coldly on the Detective. “And I told  _ you _ when this started, none must know of my presence. I will not be cut down by hunters.”

Detective Kevin rushed forward with a bellow, aiming the wood at Ala-dein’s chest. In the last second, the thief stepped aside, slicing the Detective effortlessly through the skull with his sword. The Detective slid into a heap, a pool of blood forming rapidly around him.

“What a waste,” the trickster whispered into the sudden silence.

Dean raised his gun toward the trickster.

“You know that will not kill me, hunter,” Ala-dein warned. “I suggest you put your threats away.”

Cas stepped forward, eyes glowing with grace. “That may not kill you, but I can.”

Ala-dein studied the angel. “I think not,” he replied.

Cas nodded meaningfully at Dean, and Dean sidled forward a step. “Maybe it won’t kill you, but I bet it’ll sting something fierce when this demon trap bullet hits you.”

Ala-dein rested his hands on his hips and sighed, tired.

“I don’t wish to kill any more humans--” he began.

The tip of a wooden spike covered in blood appeared in the center of Ala-dein’s chest as Castiel shoved it fiercely through. The thief’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, then he tilted forward, crumbling into a million glowing particles of sand as they exploded into a cloud on the floor.

Dean smiled in relief as Cas moved back from the pile.

“Thanks, dude,” the hunter said.

“Doesn’t that require blood?” Sam wondered. “All the victims were sand mummies.”

“All but one,” Cas pointed out, gesturing with his foot toward the Detective.

Dean nodded. Poor Detective Douchebag was nearly split in half. Still, he had gotten what he deserved, offering up the town for some mummy-making trickster.

Sam stepped gingerly over the pile of sand, dug around a bit, and came up holding the sneaker with a sigh.

“Seems sad to leave it like this,” He said. “Even if it wasn’t real.”

“Yeah,” Byrony moved closer to Sam. “Poor thing was so lonely.”

“Perhaps I can try something,” Cas suggested, taking the shoe lightly.

His eyes glowed briefly as white light flowed around the shoe. Slowly, it formed the figure of a boy again, this time curled up on his side, asleep.

Dean felt a smile stretching his face further than he thought was physically possible.

“That was awesome!” He cried, scooping Cas up in his arms and placing a hearty kiss on his lips.

Sam squawked; clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Freakin’ finally,” Byrony giggled, her voice smug. “You owe me ten bucks, Sam.”

“Really?!?” Dean whirled around. “You two  _ bet _ on my relationship with Cas?”

Sam hid his face in his long hair, gathering the kid up in a fireman’s carry.

“Don’t walk away from me, Sasquatch!” Dean yelled to his brother’s back.

Byrony and Cas trailed after, Cas smiling dazedly into the sudden sunlight when they reach the blessedly cold Northern air outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell by now, I designed my baddie after Aladdin/Sinbad/Prince of Persia. I have loved PoP since it was a game for the Apple II (revealing my age, but who cares?), and I thought he'd make a pretty cool bad guy, especially if he had the Sand Army from "Forgotten Sands" and "Sands of Time". Prince of Persia is of course based on Aladdin from "The Thousand and One Nights". Aladdin's story (and Ali Baba's) were added fairly late, but in my story, they are part of the original manuscript because I am a manuscript nerd. There is an X-men comic about Sinbad the Sailor (who I combined with Aladdin and Prince of Persia), which is why poor Frag had to die. Sorry, man. Jenn died because she had something that tied the manuscript to the coins in her collection. And Karen died because she owned the very first Prince of Persia game, published by Broderbond in 1989. :) The dagger that Cas gave Dean as a weapon was a red herring, but it's also a nod to the dagger in "Forgotten Sands" and "Sands of Time". And of course, Ala-dein is wearing an hourglass, which I used to allude to the movie Aladdin, the Prince of Persia game (especially "Sands of Time") and a lot of myths.


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